


in the new days

by hapful



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Gen, crossover AU, dad!Ford, disgruntled uncle!stanley, lot of focus on family, warnings to be added as they come, you don't need to know anything about star vs the forces of evil for this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-08
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-05-31 22:48:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6490354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hapful/pseuds/hapful
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Almost all of the man- all of Ford was out of the portal, only his other hand still pulled back into the blinding light. Stan stepped forward, stumbled, ready for… ready for something, for anything, for finally finally god damned finally their happy ending when he realized Ford’s hand was connected to another hand, grasping it tightly as it too came out of the portal.</p><p>Stan’s step faltered, mind racing against itself as another figure came out and into the light, one helped almost gently by Ford down safely from the damaged machinery. This figure wasn’t a man by any means, rather a slim, shorter shadow of - of a girl? A girl wrapped in similar dirty old clothes. She had a hood and face wrap as well, though hers had small bursts of color Ford’s lacked and her big, blue eyes were uncovered and taking in the room with an eager shine. </p><p> </p><p>AU where Ford ended up taking care of a certain dimensional space princess named Star Butterfly while he was in the portal. Star Vs The Forces Of Evil and Gravity Falls crossover</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. connections

Time stopped and, in the barest blink of an eye, Stan’s whole world changed.

The portal’s dying creaks drowned out the thud of Stan's fall, of Soos's fall, of the kids as they fell one by one. He crushed the pain blooming in his joints like pretty little spring weeds underfoot, he clawed through the ringing in his ears as he pulled himself up and to his feet. There was a carnage of machinery all around them, pipes and bolts and pieces Stan still didn’t know the name of after thirty years. Yet, for all of it, his eyes stayed focused on monolith the portal once was, on the steady blue glow.

Something black was stirring in the glow, a shadow, a shadow of a man. A _man_. A living, breathing man, moving towards them.

Stan sucked in a breath, air that felt heavy and wet and warm the way his eyes were getting. He could hear the kids fussing about, Soos with them, but he couldn’t bring himself to tear his eyes away from thirty years of work. Thirty _years_ , thirty, an endless cycle of frustration and sleepless nights and… and now this. It was over. He did it. He _did it._

He drank in the details as a muddied boot made it’s way out of glowing light, followed by another, followed by a dirty old coat, dirty old pants, dirty old black cloth wrapped around the shadow that was clearly a man in the bright light. Stan’s eyes darted from the covered, goggled face to his hand, his _hand_ , and he nearly melted in relief to see six familiar fingers.

Almost all of the man- all of _Ford_ was out of the portal, only his other hand still pulled back into the blinding light. Stan stepped forward, stumbled, ready for… ready for something, for anything, for finally finally god damned _finally_ their happy ending when he realized Ford’s hand was connected to another hand, grasping it tightly as it too came out of the portal.

Stan’s step faltered, mind racing against itself as another figure came out and into the light, one helped almost gently by Ford down safely from the damaged machinery. This figure wasn’t a man by any means, rather a slim, shorter shadow of - of a girl? A girl wrapped in similar dirty old clothes. She had a hood and face wrap as well, though hers had small bursts of color Ford’s lacked and her big, blue eyes were uncovered and taking in the room with an eager shine. 

“Who… who are they?” Dipper’s voice rang out uncertainly behind Stan, just as Ford began to pull off his goggles and hood. Stan opened his mouth, ready to answer, _wanting_ to answer but the truth was he only had half the equation.

The other half of the equation was taking off her own own hood and wrap, revealing a tangled mop of blonde hair and, stranger still, what looked like cartoon hearts on her cheeks. 

Her hand was still tight in Ford’s as she glanced around, glanced at Stan, eyes still so wide and eager. “Whoa, where are we now?”

“My… my home dimension.” Ford’s quiet reply broke Stan out of his shock, broke him out of his study of this unknown variable and back to Ford’s face. He was older, hell, he was so much older but he was _alive_ , god he was alive. There was a crack in Stan, an old, worried damage that just splintered and broke, like a dam collapsing.

“Stanford-“ He raised his hand, wanting to reach out and touch, to make sure it was all real, dear god let it all be real. Before he could reach, before he could validate anything Ford was forward and Ford was reaching. Ford’s hands were on Stan’s arms tight.

“What- Stanley what were you _thinking?_ ” Ford shot out, tone edging on frantic as Stan jolted out of the daze the encounter sweetly lured him into. “Do you have any idea what this means? Didn’t you read my warnings?!”

There was a desperation in that tone, an _anger_ and it cracked through Stanley’s whole being. He tried to pull back but Ford’s grip, the six fingers Stan was so relieved to see, wouldn’t budge. Ford wouldn’t budge.

“Are you kidding? I _saved_ you!” Stan ripped his arm away with all his strength, Ford’s fingers drifting then curling into fists that fell at Ford’s side. 

“You _saved_ me?” Ford sounded incredulous and everything in Stan was ignited, burning and crackling and loud in his own ears. It was years of

_no I’ll get this right god I’ll get this right this will be the first good damn thing I’ve ever done and when he’s back, when he’s back we’ll_

_focus god focus_

_one more hour and you can sleep_

that work, years of it, spit right back in his face.

He stepped forward, into Ford’s space, shoulders hunched and trembling with something - anger, yes, that was it - as Ford’s posture went defensive, almost aggressive. Stan didn’t need years on the street, years of struggling spitting _clawing_ his way through life to know a fight brewing when he saw it. He didn’t need those years to want to give as good as he got.

Stan’s next step faltered halfway as the girl from Ford’s side shot forward, pose equally defensive as she stepped between them. He heard a soft noise of protest from Ford, he heard it but he was far too focused on the change that went through the girl’s face as she stared him down. One minute she was fierce, cold, but that ice thawed rapidly as she took him in, as she glanced between him and Ford, as something clicked.

Then, of all things, she smiled at Stan. Beamed. “You- you’re Uncle Stanley!”

The words punctured Stanley, let all the heat and ash leak out of him in a breath he wasn’t sure he was even holding. The entire atmosphere of the room eased, or perhaps shifted to splintered confusion.

“… Uncle?” Stan heard behind him, Dipper’s reedy voice cracking at the end.

“Uh-“ Stan eloquently offered, which seemed enough for the girl.

“Oh man, Dad has told me so much about you! I can’t believe it, you look so much like him! Like… buff him! Buff, kinda snappy dresser him-“

“Star…” Ford sighed, the fine tension in his shoulders eased to a tight wariness as he tried to pull the girl back to no avail.

“ _Dad?_ ” Stan tried to interject, also to no avail.

“- and look at your face! Is it true you used to go on adventures and punch wood planks and-“

“ _Star._ ” Ford’s hand on the top of her head cut her off, six fingers gently tousling her messy hair. The hard lines of his face softened just a touch, just enough for Stan to feel a sharp pang of pain, of what could have been. What _should_ have been. “Remember what I said? Give him a minute to process.”

“I can’t help it! You’re the one who said I’d probably never get a chance to meet him.” Star retorted, tone low and almost dramatic before it lightened again. “This _is_ him, right?”

Ford glanced over to Stanley then, the softness chased out of the corners of his eyes, replaced with something heavier, something complicated. Something so like them. “Yes, it is.”

The sting drove Stan to action, to a clipped tone and a mounting feeling of dread. “Ok, hold on and back this up a few spaces - _dad?_ “ Stan pointed between the pair, feeling a bubbling sort of hysteria crawling up his throat. “Are you- _you_ had a kid? _You?_ “

“Why do you sound so surprised?” Was Ford’s response, something painfully nostalgic in the almost awkward indignation edging the words, before he begrudgingly added. “And no, she’s not my biological daughter, it’s… complicated.”

“I’m a tragic space princess, last in line to Mewni’s throne and on the run from the forces that conquered my kingdom.” The girl answered in a deeper voice, gesturing in a long practiced way as she did. By the end her dire playacting fell back to a normalcy, which for her seemed to border on cheer. “I’m Star Butterfly.”

Ford’s expression faltered, hand hovering over his chin as he considered in a thoughtful tone. “Well… that does explain it fairly concisely, good job my dear- though I thought we talked about _not_ letting those details slip. Repeatedly.”

Stan watched the young girl simply smile at that with a soft 'whoops,' his own mouth still pursed tightly as he tried to process this. From behind him he heard Soos (stage) whisper. “So uh… you dudes know what’s going on?”

“Nope.” Came from Mabel, who sounded confused, shaken and little excited. Probably because of space princesses, Stan figured.

“Not a clue.” Was from Dipper, who just sounded shaken and confused.

He could see the recognition click in Ford’s eyes, finally. “Wait, there are children here?”

“Apparently there’s all sorts of children here!” Stan shot out. "They're Shermie's kids, your great niblings."

"My... great niece and nephew?" There was something like quiet awe in Ford's tone, one mirrored by the girl now taking in Dipper and Mabel with a fine thrum of excited energy. 

And right then, of course, was when Dipper finally caught on, eyes darting over Ford’s hands as he cautiously approached. 

“Your… your hands!” Dipper’s exclamation made Ford fidget, some instinctual twitch to hide away his hands before the boy’s realization bubbled over into excitement. “It’s you! You’re the author of the journals!”

“And my twin brother.” Stan sighed, rubbing his temples against the storm brewing just behind his skull.

He heard the thud of Soos’s theatric faint and didn’t bother to glance his way as Ford and Star startled. “Pull Soos over here and sit down, we gotta lot of ground to cover.”

Ford’s shoulder’s eased a fraction, tone calmer but still laced with something that made Stan’s hackles rise. “Yes we do.”

The younger twins glanced between themselves, silent conversation only broken when Ford marched over to kneel by Soos’s side. Dipper and Mabel immediately hovered closer, greetings and nerves and questions on their lips, only encouraged by the sudden shift in Ford’s features from guarded to warm, intrigued. Mabel was shaking Ford’s hand in glee by the time Stan turned away, stomach churning, rolling, arms crossed and hands digging into the fabric of his sleeves.

His turn left him face to face with the blonde girl- Star, his mind supplied with a patented exasperation at the fact his life now involved things like gnomes and goblins and _space princesses_ named Star Butterfly. The unsettled pit in his stomach only grew colder at how much the girl immediately reminded him of Mabel. She was clearly older, maybe closer to Wendy’s age if her aging followed any human-like pattern, but there was a brightness to her eyes that Stan could spot a mile away.

A brightness that was a little dimmer now, a little shaded, guarded, as she took him in. He swallowed down the rush of _more like Dipper with that look_ , the still unsteady thought that this girl was family he didn’t even know he was saving. Family who may find all his efforts just as unimpressive as Ford did, as-

“What’re you lookin’ at, kid?” His tone spilled gruff, the natural gravel from his throat. He nearly took a step back as Star stepped closer, eyes narrowing. “Hey, what-“

She lashed out in a flash- well, not a lash so much as a very decisive poke to his chin. He stared, dumbfounded as she stood on the pads of her feet to get a better look.

“You don’t have it, the-“ She gestured towards his face.

And after a beat his brow raised. “Cleft chin y’mean? Nah, Ford got it from our Pops.”

“He said you two used to impersonate each other like… a _ton._ ” She sounded almost disappointed, and Stan found his brow raising further. 

He found he wasn’t sure he liked the tone, either. “Ha, y’think I need a butt chin to impersonate the egg head over there?” When Star’s expression cracked into delight - probably over butt chin, he thought, that _was_ comedy gold - Stan cleared his throat. It may have been a while, but some things were practically ingrained.

Like imitating Ford’s voice. “Despite our biological similarities we’re not perfect copies, clearly blah blah blah, I am a huge nerd, science mumbo jumbo-” Stan waved a hand as he spoke, pausing when Star laughed like a bell in the dim grime of the basement. 

Stan coughed, glancing to the side. “Heh, see? Perfect. No one would think to look at my chin with skills like that.”

Whatever wariness that was in Star’s eyes was gone now, he noticed, replaced with an endless sort of curiosity shining in a way that was both the Pines twins. 

“So what do I call you? Uncle Stan? Uncle Stanley? US? Uncle Lee?”

Something caught in Stan’s throat, heavy and thick. 

“Uh-“ Star was bouncing on her heels, grinning at him like the answer was important to her, like today was important, like excitement. (Like Ford was supposed to.) 

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, Uncle’s fine, just Uncle Stan. That’s what the kids call me, Grunkle Stan.”

At Star’s perplexed look he quickly added, “Y’know, for Great Uncle.”

Star’s eyes went wide, tone solemn. “That is _so_ wise.”

“Ain’t my idea, kid.” Stan huffed, feeling some of his own ice melt regardless. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone looked at him the way Star was, like he was the most interesting person they ever met.

Well, besides Soos. Stan glanced over his shoulder to where Soos was sitting up now at least, rubbing his cap as Dipper blabbered excitedly at Ford. Stan couldn’t catch it all, mostly ‘ _journals_ ’ this and ‘ _mysteries_ ’ that as Mabel tried to make sure her brother didn’t swallow his own tongue. 

He almost didn’t catch Star’s quiet words. “Uncle Stan.” He glanced over sharply as she drew the name out like she was testing it, like it was new but maybe fragile, maybe something to be treated carefully. It quickly grew more confident, more daring. “Uncle Stan- Grunkle is so much more fun though. Just listen to it! Grunkle. _Grunkle._ ”

“Hey kid, no cops here.” Just government officials upstairs, but like hell was he going to deal with that thought on top of everything else. Stan waved a hand. “Call me whatever you’d like. I doubt adopted ‘tragic space princesses’ really need to follow the rules here.”

“Yes!” Star pumped her fist before pressing it to her hip. “Ho boy, you’re pretty much how I pictured you from the stories. Well, more uh… old human though.”

Stan snorted at the statement, the claws in his stomach churning as he spoke again. “I’m surprised Ford said anything about me.” 

His eyes found the man in question, drawn there whenever his mind wandered too far from his control. There was a scratching under his skin at that, a compulsion to take it back because he didn’t want the next words to be strained, to be filled with awkward explanations around the many bad things Ford could have said.

Instead Star rolled her eyes. “Oh please, Dad talked about you plenty, but you know, in his way-“ She straightened suddenly, doing an incredibly poor impression of Ford’s much deeper voice. “‘Well Star, I _suppose_ I could tell you more about life on Earth and your family, a healthy curiosity is the basis for a strong mind-‘ etc, etc.”

When she finished she splayed her hands out like it was the final line of her act, looking to Stan with a grin. “Eh? How was it?”

Stan couldn’t help it, he snorted a laugh he tried to catch. It seemed to please the girl, and he thought maybe it was alright he let it slip. “Five outta ten at best, kid. Sounds just like Pointdexter though. If he raised you how did you end up so… not a dweeb?”

“What’s a dweeb? Sounds dangerous.” Star shot back with an edge of adventurous excitement to her tone.

“Stanley.” Ford’s voice stopped Stan from answering that, answering that gleefully, really. Ford was heading over, Mabel and Dipper in tow, Soos shadowing behind them with barely muted nerves and excitement at all that was happening. “I think you owe all of us an explanation here. They told me you took my name?”

“Look-“ Stan started, sighed, feeling his hackles rise once again, old and worn and tired of the fight. “Fine, alright, sit down ‘cause this is going to take a while. If we’re doing this I’m telling the whole story, Ford.”

An unreadable look crossed Ford’s face, one that made Stanley wonder if Ford was going to object. He was almost surprised when Ford nodded. 

“Then let’s begin.”

—

There was something satisfying in a well spun lie.

Stan knew the feeling well, one of the few satisfactions he had, one of the few moments his big, empty brain got a chance to be clever. It was an art, a science, telling just enough truth that it covered the shaky bits, the rotten parts, the places where the floor would cave and the walls would fall and everything would come crashing down.

There wasn’t even a grim satisfaction in twisting the story for the kids, leaving out the nastier parts, the hard places, the years they didn’t need to know about. Stan could feel Ford’s eyes on him as he described their ten years apart, he could feel things like _judgement_ and doubt and _I’m giving you a chance to do the first worthwhile thing in your life._

He watched Ford back as his brother spoke about college then Gravity Falls then Fiddleford’s accident, Fiddleford leaving. He tried to leave messages in Ford’s pacing back, let his eyes pierce with things like _you’re leaving something out_ , like _you’re no better than me._ The broken mess of a man Stan found in the Shack thirty years ago didn't happen overnight.

He barely glanced at the kids, any of them, as he spoke, too caught up in the momentum that was going to get him through this. The ice in him was melting as the story unfolded, melting and cracking all the more as he told them about the portal, the fight, the words thrown both ways. His eyes wandered over that place right there, where his shoulder met _heat_ that scarred him for life. They grazed over that spot, where Ford’s feet lifted off the ground, where his brother flailed and screamed, echoes still in Stan’s dreams of _help me Stanley help me do something Stanley-!_

Once or twice the younger twins shifted, glanced to each other, eyes heavy with the weight of the story. Once or twice Star moved like she wanted to stand up, to speak, stopped only by Ford’s hand on her shoulder and a shake of his head. When he got to the end, to the lackluster conclusion to their whole sorry tale, Stan found himself looking to Ford again, hoping, _praying_ to work this out. They could work this out. They would.

And there was Ford, looking beyond him and them, behind them all at the crippled portal, something dark and sharp swimming right behind his eyes. It pushed a lump into Stan’s throat, made him swallow against a feeling of dread that wouldn’t go away.

“Whoa…” Mabel finally broke the silence, shuffling her feet. “So all this time-?”

“All this time you were just trying to save your brother.” Dipper finished for her, a heaviness set in his shoulders, slooping them downward. “Grunkle Stan I… I’m sorry, I thought you were up to something horrible when all this time-“

“Forget it kid.” Stan jostled Dipper’s elbow, trying to cut off the self flagellation his nephew was so fond of. “Maybe I shoulda told y’both from the start. We-“

Before he could continue a sharp crack from above made them all jump, the kids pulling to their feet while Ford and Star both tensed into defensive poses. Soos was the one who let out a worried sputter.

“Oh man, oh man Mr. Pines, those government dudes are still up there! I was so engrossed in your tragic backstory I forgot!” 

“Don’t call it a- oh for heaven’s sake, what are we going to do now?” Stan ran a hand through his hair, pulling off his fez as he did. Not two but _three_ kids about to get mixed up in all this, just great. He was going to kick Past Stan’s sorry ass for thinking nah, it’s fine, we can worry about all this when Ford’s back.

“The government?” Ford’s sharp tone broke him from his thoughts, Star’s look of surprise narrowing to some itch to fight Stan could pick out from a mile away.

“So, we’re going to go beat them up right?”

Ford rubbed at his temples. “I’m not sure how technology has changed in this dimension but they likely have guns, Star, and reinforcements. What are they doing here?”

Mabel was quick to throw out an answer. “Well uh, mostly they are soooo not happy about the secret dangerous possible doomsday machine in the basement thing. Also Dipper and I helped crash one of their cars? So there’s that.”

Stan balked. “You _what?_ ”

Ford, on the other hand, ignored that fact, marching over to the monitors mostly destroyed on the other side of the room. “How many are there? Looks like several dozen…” He was reaching to his side, into his coat, Star’s eyes following him and widening as he did.

“Wait, I got it!” Dipper was up and rummaging through his bag in barely a beat, pulling out a gun that looked more like a toy than anything in Stan’s opinion. If his head wasn’t swimming at this new hellish onslaught of information he may have even crabbily said so. “We got this from the Society of the Blind Eye, it-“

“A memory gun!” Ford sounded ecstatic, hand dropping from his coat as he kneeled to Dipper’s level. “This is perfect, my boy! Alright, give that here.”

It took all of a few minutes to clean the matter up after that, and hell, some part of Stan couldn’t help eyeing this gun thing speculatively. There were more than a few moments it would have helped him with law enforcement in the past, and it was a hell of a lot better than imagining the situations Dipper and Mabel got into that led them to get _memory erasing guns_ of all damn things.

He couldn’t believe it wasn’t the dead of night when he walked onto the porch and the early evening air. Ford was feeding the damn goat something, then turning to smile softly as Dipper and Mabel rushed up, congratulating him, praising him for his clever save.

Something in Stan bristled, something old, worn. “Alright, c’mon kids, Ford and I gotta talk and _you_ gotta get some sleep.”

 _Aw_ and _But-!_ answered him, quickly brushed aside as he shooed the kids into the house and Soos away. When he turned it was just him and Ford on the porch- no, him, Ford and Star slipping past him to latch to Ford’s side.

Stan felt himself falter, like catching his balance as he tripped. He cleared his throat. “Uh, you two look like you could use a shower and some clothes that don’t come from… what, some B movie sci-fi deal? Not that I think we have anything that’s gonna fit you, kid, but we can worry about fit later. Assuming the town’s cleaned up we can get some clothes tomorrow.”

They were both staring at Stanley with an intensity that made him fidget, made his fingers twitch as he bit back the urge to snap at them to stop. Star’s gaze was questioning, putting things together while Ford… Stan wasn’t sure he could place the look, though it was softer around the sides than any other glance his brother gave him so far.

“That would be for the best. Star, why don’t you take the first shower? Stanley and I will find you something to wear.” Ford started, turning to Star who fixed her questioning gaze on him instead now.

“… are we staying here?” Her tone wasn’t soft so much as unsure, unsure of the answer, unsure of how she felt about the answer. Stan’s brow furrowed at it, at the way Ford’s own look tightened.

Ford placed a hand on her shoulder and she leaned into him without thinking. “I believe so.”

“But what if they find us again?” Star insisted, and Stan gave up the pretense of giving the pair privacy.

“What if _who_ finds us?”

Ford glanced to him, expression solemn. “When Star told you she’s being hunted by the forces that took over her kingdom she wasn’t being hyperbolic. They’ve been on our heels for some time now, but-“

He turned, kneeling enough that he could put both hands on Star’s shoulders, smiling softly at her. “- but we’ve tricked them before and we’ll do it again, as many times as it takes. We’ll find a way to make sure they won’t find us.”

The look on Star’s face was so different from what Stan had seen so far of the girl, now it was drained of energy, smaller and darker in the cracks. A small smile forced it’s way to her lips after a beat past, one stubbornly fueled until she nodded, entire countenance brighter. 

“And if they do I’ll kick their butts.” She supplied, and Ford grinned as he stood straight again, ruffling her hair. 

“Everyone will be very impressed with the space warrior princess, I’m sure. Now go on, let’s have Stan show us the bathroom so you can clean up.”

Stan felt more than a few questions on his tongue but he swallowed them, nodding to the door to show them the way. Ford walked ahead, likely expecting the bathroom to be in the same place it was and in that case he was right. Stan was glad for it, trailing behind to regard the pair as they marched on.

The questions were persistent in his skull, things like:

How did this happen?

What did they mean by ‘forces’ that were hunting them?

What did that mean for Stan, for the kids, for any of them?

_How?_

He wanted to grab Ford, to spin him around and demand some clarification, some forewarning about what was apparently lurking on the edge of this whole affair. He wanted to but he couldn’t, his gaze kept falling quietly to Star, the girl looking around wide eyed at the house and all that was in it. He didn’t have the heart to demand Stanford admit she was some liability right in front of her.

Hell, she treated him more like family than Stanford had since he got back.

Stan pushed the thought aside, the warmth and the ice of it, gesturing to the right door when they reached the hall. “Right in there, space kid, go on and we’ll leave some clothes on the sink when we find ‘em.”

“Okay, thanks Uncle Stan!” Star patted his arm affectionately as she dashed past. From inside the room he could hear her ooing and awing at whatever it was she was finding, Stan assumed a bathroom sink, soap and a showerhead.

His brow lifted at Ford. “She uh… gonna be alright in there?”

“She’ll figure things out. Probably.” Was all Ford helpfully supplied, following Stan down the hall once more and to Stan’s room.

The damage to the house made Stan grimace as he reached his dresser, figures and bills running through his head at an alarming rate. Maybe it was a damn sight better than focusing on Stanford, who was standing almost awkwardly in the doorframe, glancing around.

“The house is… different.” Ford finally said, attention shifting as Stan pushed a dresser drawer shut.

“After thirty years _that’s_ what you wanna talk about?”

“Should I have gone by your lead and just not spoken at all?” Ford bit right back, a snap that forced a sigh out of Stan.

“We’re finally alone and like hell if I know what I wanna say to you.” Stan murmured, and the words lodged him his throat felt like _I’m sorry_ or _what gives?_ or _don’t hate me_ or _why can’t you be the person I remember?_

He didn’t glance up as Ford stepped further into the room, closing the door behind him. It felt final, like a trap, like a corner and Stan tried not to tense, he did. “Listen, Ford-“

“Stanley we really need to get some things straight.” Ford interrupted, voice stern and business and just cold enough to leave a chill. “I want my name back, and my house. This… Mystery Shack, it’s too dangerous.”

“So you want that closed too?” Stan rounded on him, a bundle of clothes in his hands and a scowl on his face, the gentle uncertainty of before shattering. “That’s part of your list of demands?”

“They’re not-“ Ford let out a breath through his nose, face hardening again. “I do. Keep it open for the rest of the summer if you must, but after that-“

“Seriously Ford?” Stan felt his throat tighten, eyes just a touch to warm. “What, nothing? I spent _thirty years_ trying to save you and all I get is _this?_ ”

“The warnings I left made it _very clear_ you shouldn’t have done that!” Ford snapped back, heated and brittle. “You played with forces you couldn’t possibly comprehend!”

“Forces _you_ played with first!” Stan spat. “And y’know what Ford? I don’t care about your warnings! I didn’t then and I don’t now!”

“Yes, when have you _ever_ taken my work seriously!” 

Stan’s entire body was tense as he shoved the bundle of cloth into Ford’s arms. “Y’know what? _Fine._ I’ll follow your damn demands but here’s one of mine - you stay away from the kids! I don’t want them involved in your dangerous nonsense, y’hear me Stanford?”

Something in Ford’s face faltered at that, cracked just a tad down the side. “They’re my family-“

“ _I'm_ your family and you've done nothing but spit on me since you've gotten back. Well- well they’re _my_ family.” Stan interrupted. “They’re the only family I have left.”

Ford took a step back, a fine tremor in his arms as he turned and slammed the door behind him. Stan watched him go, watched the door shut in his face with sharp bang, watched the one thing he had been missing more than anything turn his back on him.

He collapsed back onto the bed, hand running over his face. “Damnit.”

The walls didn’t have an answer for him.

—

Ford's old room was where he left it, nearly unchanged by time besides small additions here and there that Ford quickly moved out of sight. There was something eerily calming about a time capsule, he thought, something grounding about that familiarity even after all this time. It felt like taking a step back, breathing. 

He didn't think about Stanley, about family. He thought about the basement. He thought about the future.

Star was sitting on the couch he used for a bed over thirty years ago, feet swinging and flapping the too long pant legs. She looked ridiculous in some spare clothes of Stan’s, swimming in the shirt and only a belt made sure the pants didn’t fall every time she stood, but they were blessedly _clean._ She was clean, skin scrubbed and hair combed and neater than he could remember her being in ages. It made him satisfied, to see her so well. It made a sick, guilty twist in his gut at how long it took.

“I’m going to take a shower now.” He told her, walking over to plant a kiss on her forehead. “Try to get some sleep. We won’t need any lookouts tonight, so we may as well enjoy it.”

“Duh, if we’re staying we won’t need lookouts any night, right?” Star chirped back, and Ford huffed a tired, amused breath.

“I certainly hope so.” There was a storm festering in the basement, one he couldn’t ignore. There was something worse than a passing danger circling them, and Ford swore he could hear it’s grating laugh. “I’m going to head down to the basement when I’m done so don’t wait up, I need to make sure everything is stable.”

He turned, ready to leave when there was a hand on his sleeve, stopping him. “Why did you and Uncle Stan fight?”

Ford’s body locked, excuses dancing on his tongue. “It’s… complicated, my dear. And we didn’t really fight-“

“I heard the door slam. Busted, buster.” Star shot him right down. He felt himself deflate.

“Star, I… Stanley and I have a lot of history. He was wrong to do what he did and he’s unabashed in ignoring that fact.”

“But you missed him.” Star’s answer was so simple it made something in Ford ache, deeply. “I _know_ you did. Dad, why not tell him? You can be mad about all this stupid adult junk later.”

Ford glanced away. “Telling him that won’t change the truth.”

Star frowned as she hopped up, pulling back his coat to fish through his pockets. She pulled out a picture, a worn photo of two boys on a boat, and pressed it to his hands. 

Ford watched her quietly for a moment, expression melting to something else, something tired, as he placed a hand on her head. “I’ll consider it, Star, but I have other priorities right now. Just… give it time, alright?”

Star’s lips twisted unhappily but she didn’t try to stop him as he left the room. She fell back on the couch, letting out a huff of air to get her hair out of her face.

“Well.” She told the ceiling, because it was the only one around to listen. “That _basically_ translates into ‘help me before I run myself in an emotional circle,’ right?”

The ceiling didn’t answer but she decided to take the silence as awe of her wisdom.

—

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just kind of wanted to try something a little more light hearted than I usually do. also i wanted to try a chapter fic of all things. i hope it's acceptable, i don't know if my writing really lends to this sort of spiel.


	2. operation pines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Family bonding time.

Mabel woke up with her arms rigid at her sides and a question she couldn’t remember on her lips. That morning felt like a jolt, like a light head from sitting up too fast and a dry, sandy mouth.

She spit a lock of hair from her lips, tangled from the night before as she swung her legs so her feet could hit the floor with a little thud. Dipper was still asleep, Dipper was almost always still asleep when she woke up because Dipper stayed up too late, stubbornly refusing to greet the morning. It was so normal, so very Dipper that for a moment Mabel forgot the echoes of her dream, forgot a lot of everything as she headed for the door.

The Shack was quiet this early, only a rustling in the kitchen and wind through the broken boards in the walls. Gravity fell, she remembered with that same sort of jolt, _right_ , everything was different now. Her hands twisted in her hair, twirling it like a braid, remembering muffled words and a slammed door, remembering the silly pit in her stomach even as Dipper told her they wouldn’t be stupid. 

From the kitchen she heard clanging, footsteps, and she headed for the noise.

“Grunkle Stan?” Mabel called as walked into the kitchen, only to stop short as the person rustling about by the sink spun around.

Star stared her down for a beat, hands up like she was ready to chop a plank of wood in half before she dropped them. “Oh! You’re up- late? Early? When do humans here get up?”

Mabel blinked, mind snapping to as she remembered the _other_ thing that was different now. Star looked ridiculous, swimming in some old clothes of Stan’s, sleeves folded a couple of times just like her pant legs. Mabel couldn’t help but stare, but take her all in as a niggling thought planted itself in her mind. Even the early morning haze and lingering late night unease could deter the thought.

“No, no, no! This is unacceptable!”

“Uh-?” Star glanced around at Mabel’s outburst, lost. Her eyes widened as Mabel marched forward, circling her, brow drawn down in fret.

“Look at you! You’re a _princess_ and you’re wearing that? No family member of mine is going out in something like that!” Mabel exclaimed, before her tone went grudging. “Well, besides Grunkle Stan, but he’s a kinda gross old man so you have to take what you can get, you know?”

The nervous edge to Star’s face eased as Mabel spoke, morphing to an open curiosity. “Uncle Stan did say we’re gonna get me _human clothes._ ” She stretched out her hands as she said the words, as though such clothes were something exotic and worthy of drama. “I don’t know where, the market? Maybe loot it off something? That’s okay in this dimension, right?”

“We call it a mall, and going to have to give you a hard ‘no’ on the looting.” Mabel mused. “But you can’t even go to the mall in that! You look like a cast extra from Oliver Twist!”

“From wha-?”

“No, no.” Mabel resolutely shook her head. “Don’t you worry cuz, I got you covered. I’m a girl who can get you things.”

Star leaned in at Mabel’s conspiratorial tone, eyes bright. “Things?”

Mabel grinned. “Let me get my supplies.”

 

By the time Dipper dragged himself downstairs he was greeted with the sound of chatter from the kitchen. He froze in the doorway when both Mabel and Star turned his way, Mabel already halfway through the sleeve of a pale blue sweater and Star waving a spoon around like it was a baton. He glanced down at his pajamas, suddenly self-conscious, until Mabel read his mind.

“Come in, Dip-Dop! She’s our cool alien cousin, you don’t need to put on your Sunday best!”

“Uh, r-right,” Dipper stuttered as he entered, nearly toppling over when Star shoved a bowl of too much cereal and too little milk right under his nose.

“I made breakfast!” The spoon sticking out of the lumps of cereal nearly poked him in the eye as Star shoved it at his face. He grabbed the bowl hastily, leaning away when Star leaned over conspiratorially. “It’s the owl one.”

“That’s… great. Thanks.”

Dipper retreated to the table as quickly as he could, squashing in next to Mabel like she could be a barrier against so much… well, personality, so early in the morning. Mabel just grinned, nudging Dipper’s arm.

“Isn’t she great?” She glanced over at the same time Dipper did, watching Star play around with the dish soap like it was something new, something interesting. Dipper felt himself ease when the girl began trying to blow the bubbles of the soap off her hand and into the air. It was a familiar old pasttime of Mabel’s anytime they got dish duty.

Mabel continued. “And she’s _family!_ We got two new family members for the price of one, Dipper! Mom and Dad are gonna fliiiiip when they get my new, illustrated account of our summer adventures.”

“I told you to stop sending them pictures of monsters and stuff, Mabel!” Dipper groaned, only for his sister to tut.

“I don’t send the scary ones, keep your cap on. Besides, don’t act all cool and aloof Mister Fanboy. I know you’re dying over here.”

The outrage Dipper tried to muster escaped his throat in a squeak. He quickly cleared it out. “I am not- I mean, it’s only the author and his inter-dimensional space daughter, it’s only the answer to basically every question I had and- and it’s- oh my god Mabel, it’s _proof_ there’s a multiverse out there! Do you know what this means?”

“That there’s a universe where the guy on the ten dollar bill is our age and I’m dating him?” Mabel asked hopefully.

Dipper faltered. “No- I mean, yes? I guess? That’s not the point, the point is this changes everything! Imagine how much he knows about… about everything! Not just Gravity Falls but the universe, all the universes!”

“Yeah, Dad’s a pretty smart cookie.” Dipper started as Star plopped down across from them, shaking her damp sleeves uselessly. “Like- oh! You know that Tolkien guy? Man, Dad knows like everything about that guy, he told me the stories a bajillion times, like exactly a bajillion.”

“There are movies for that now!” Mabel slammed in before Dipper could open his mouth, slapping her knitting needles against the table in her enthusiasm. “With Orlando Bloom as a hot elf _and_ the guy who plays Aragorn! Oh Star, you are in for a treat.”

“ _Mabel_ ,” Dipper groaned, clearly not ready for the flashbacks of Mabel’s _Lord of the Rings_ phase. “There’s more important things than hot elves!”

“Pft, says you.”

Dipper ignored her, focusing on Star. “So uh… would you mind if I maybe asked you a million questions? About, you know, your life, Great Uncle Ford, the multiverse- everything?”

“Well-“ Star began, interrupted by another set of footsteps shuffling into the kitchen.

“Why are all you kids up so early?” Stan muttered, scratching at his back as Dipper groaned over the fairly typical interruption before he was able to get any real answers.

“We’re asking Star about the multiverse! Like… like what it’s like, where she was, how is-“

Stan wasted no time flicking the brim of Dipper’s hat, earning a squeak of protest in turn. “Eat your breakfast before you start an inquisition.”

“But-“

“I made it.” Star explained, which made Stan pause to glance at said offending bowl.

“Y’sure did, space kid.” He answered after a beat. The unintentional rhyme seemed to please her and Stan sighed. “Alright, you gremlins better eat up, we got work to do today.”

Dipper’s brow shot up. “You’re really opening the Shack after yesterday?”

“Of course I’m not, half the exhibits are embedded in the roof and I’m pretty sure the parking lot’s a crater. We already have one bottomless pit.” Stan glanced out window, rubbing at his chin. “Nah, today we’re fixing up what we can with the cheapest manual labor money can buy.”

Dipper and Mabel were groaning even before Stan turned his grin to them. “And that means _you._ ”

“Grunkle Stan!”

“No back talk, you should be paying _me_ for this as far as I’m concerned. This is priceless character building right here!” Stan shot back, starting when a high pitched glee erupted from Star’s throat.

“We’re fortifying the base?” She exclaimed, slapping her hand on the table and jostling Dipper’s untouched breakfast. “And we’re getting _character building?_ ”

“Uh… sure. That’s what I said.” Stan answered slowly. 

Star was on her feet before he could blink. “Don’t you worry Uncle Stan, I _got_ this!” She rushed past, leaving him and the twins to watch her go, only the slamming of doors echoing after her.

Mabel broke the beat of silence. “I like her, she’s like if Xena and Buffy gave birth to Rapunzel.”

“I understood almost none of that statement.” Stan informed her. At the muffled ‘where’s the barbed wire?’ from outside he rubbed his face. “Oi. Alright you two, go uh… I don’t know, reign in the space kid and make sure I’m not spending more money on renovating the renovations.”

“You got it, Grunkle Stan!” And Mabel was off, leaving Dipper to get up from the table himself, eyes nervous on Stan.

“You know, Great Uncle Ford hasn’t come up yet, maybe someone should-“

“No.” Stan didn’t waste a beat shutting Dipper’s suggestion down, leaving the boy choking on his words for a moment before he sputtered.

“But-!”

“No buts! You gotta job to do and I gotta call Soos and get him over here, go on-“ Stan ushered Dipper to the door, glad when Mabel rounded back to grab at Dipper’s sleeve and excitedly tell him Star found the paint supply. 

Dipper tried to look back as he was dragged away and Stan turned from it, ignoring the ruckus already starting in the yard.

He didn’t spare the vending machine a glance as he passed by, something tight and stagnant curling in his gut.

—

By the time Stan got outside it was, as he feared, a mess.

“It’s very… sharp.” Stan stood at Star’s side, surveying the small wall she had hodgepodged together around the porch, all topped off with dangerous looking bits of barbed wire he forgot they had. Probably a remnant from Ford’s paranoid streak, and the thought made his lips twist bitterly.

Star didn’t notice, surveying her work with a grin. “It’ll ward off predators.”

“Kid, the only predators we got here are tax collectors and I got paperwork and smoke bombs for that.” He glanced over to her, brow raised. “I mean it’s uh… it’s a real nice dangerous wall, but when I said renovations I meant more patching the roof and making sure the actual walls don’t fall down.”

Star’s face scrunched in disbelief, and some deep part of Stan twisted at the idea the kid lived in a way that made her think something like this was the priority. She wasn’t his responsibility, oh no, Ford probably didn’t want her anywhere near a fuck up like him anyway so it didn’t damn matter-

She looked to him, still confused and he sighed the defeat out of his lungs, rolling up his sleeves. “Alright, I’m gonna teach ya a thing or two about patching a roof.”

Star turned out to be quite the quick student, if not through enthusiasm alone. She certainly knew her way around a hammer, as makeshift and sometimes overzealous as she was, and they got farther than he thought by the time his aching joints made him collapse with a sigh against the shingles.

“I’m too old for this.” He told the sky, though Star was the only one who cared enough to answer. 

“That’s quitter talk, Uncle Stan.”

“Hey, I wasn’t the one supposed to get my hands dirty. Where the heck are the kids and Soos?” He grumbled.

Star leaned over him where she stood, a welcome shade from the sun. “They went to pick up more stuff from the town merchant.” She explained, and Stan wanted to roll his eyes at the wording straight out of some weirdo novel. He closed them instead.

“Eh, slackers. Why didn’t you go with them?”

When she didn’t answer right away he cracked an eye open, enough to see Star glancing down at the house, pensive. “I don’t like being too far away from Dad.” She answered after a beat, pensiveness pushed down. “I guess that’s pretty dumb here, I mean we’re definitely safe, right?”

Stan sat up, unsure of what to say. He found himself reaching out before he could help it, hand reaching up and resting on the kid’s head as she took a seat beside him. “Hey, I own ten guns for a reason. No one’s getting through to us here, space kid.”

“Only ten?” Star glanced over, lips quirking at the edges.

Stan huffed. “Everyone’s a critic. If you have time to rib me you have time to patch a roof!”

She laughed and stood, grabbing the hammer and clearly ready to cause more mayhem.

Stan tried to stifle a smile as he stood with a creaking of bones and a feeling that what he did for thirty years really was worth it.

—

Star never thought of her father as frightening in any way. It was a word that didn’t mesh with the awkward way he’d laugh and glance to the side, or the way he’d wiggle his fingers for dramatic effect even in duller parts of a story, or the time he’d spend helping her with the tangles in her hair with his own hands when they didn’t have a brush between them.

No, frightening wasn’t a word for her father, Star decided, perhaps simply knew from birth. She reminded herself of that, just a quiet nod to that simple truth, as she made her way through the carcass that was once her father’s lab a lifetime ago. She thought of it as she stood in front of what was once her father’s life’s work.

The portal remained much the same, though somehow even worse for wear than she remembered it being when they all escaped up into the main house. Large sections of plating were pulled off now, pieces lay scattered haphazardly when there had only been dust before, and now the monolith looked almost skeletal as it’s wide eye stared her down.

It was a triangle still, and that thought sent a shudder down her spine. When she looked behind her the dim lights of the room cast her shadow in the center of that eye, like a long pupil that saw all.

“Star?”

Star jumped, started, quickly hurrying to the doorway where the source of the voice was standing and regarding her. Ford’s brow was furrowed, lips thin in displeasure that she cut off quickly. “Dad! There you are!”

“Star, you shouldn’t be down here. It isn’t stable right now.” Ford placed a hand on her head even in his displeasure, even as his tone went from curious to a scolding she could hear coming from a mile away. “Why don’t you go back up and get some more sleep?”

“It’s waaaay past noon, Dad.” Star poked him in his side, watching his scolding deflate somewhat predictably at this new information. “Aren’t you the one who always says-“

“-food and sleep are important, yes yes.” Ford finished for her, a warmth tugging at his small, tired smile that chased some of the shadows of the room away. “I’ve also said to trust me, haven’t I? There’s much work to be done down here Star, and it takes priority.”

Star scoffed. “But what work is it? We’re safe now, right? The only way anything can follow us through is from the portal and-“ She turned, gestured with a grand little wave of her hands. “-ta-da! Doesn’t look like anything’s taking that route.”

When Ford said nothing, glanced away, glanced to the portal’s carcass with a look Star couldn't read, she stepped forward. The lines around his eyes were hard in the way they were when the two of them were running, were hiding, when her father was trying to hear something as he held an arm around her protectively. It was far away and sharp.

It wasn’t the first time he looked far away when he was beside her, it was a familiar, lonely feeling she tried to ignore. As she got older he only tried harder to hide the reality of their lives, the constant danger, running, low grade fear. Sometimes Star wasn’t sure if she loved him more for it or if something resentful was planted in her gut.

Now though, Star took his hand in hers and he looked to her, the lines still there even as he tried to soften them. Now she most certainly knew, wanted to believe, he was just doing his best. 

And she could do her best for him, too. “Dad, he can’t get us here. We’re outta there.”

Ford swallowed, struggling against those hard lines until he spared her a smile and strained enthusiasm. “That’s what I need to make sure of, Star.” Before she could say anything else he pulled her into a hug, familiar in it’s desperate sort of tightness.

Star placed her arms around him and tried not to let her fingers shake at the feeling the room gave, like a large eye watching.

“Maybe some uh- what is it now, lunch? Maybe some lunch would be a good idea. I can show you real earth cuisine.” Ford offered to Star’s scoff.

“Try dinner, buster.” Star corrected, glad as he started for the elevator, gladder still that he kept his hand in hers. It was such an old gesture from when they were both much younger, when she could walk fast enough to keep up on foot but wandered too often and too far at a moment’s notice. Even when she learned better it was comforting in crowds, in dank, dangerous places they passed, or just when the hairs on the back of her neck would raise.

Star smothered the feelings, merely squeezed his hand tight and told him all about the ’Stancakes’ Stanley had made them for lunch.

—

“Hey space kid, y’want-“ Stan started as the elevator dinged open, words tumbling and dying on his tongue when he saw Ford enter the room in Star’s wake. The older twins glanced at each other for all of a second before pointedly looking away, Stan to the frying pan he was working over and Ford to the table Star was bounding over to.

“Great Uncle Ford!” Dipper squeaked from the table, moving hastily so there was more room next to him. His entire face was bright with excitement, an honest to god enthusiasm that made something in Ford melt without his intent. “H-hey, ahem, I mean hey, you came up. We’re having dinner, you can sit over here and-“

“Oh, that’s very kind but I’m afraid I’ve just come up to grab something quickly and go back down.” Ford cut him off, trying to keep neutrality on his face even as Stan’s presence felt like it was boring a hole into his shoulder.

Dipper’s face fell and Star, he really should have known, Star whipped around with a furrowed brow. “What!”

“I told you Star, I have a great deal of important, weird work I must continue.” Ford tried for stern, tried for whatever sort of mystique his time away may have given him but it was rather difficult when Star immediately latched himself to his side. “I really must- I have to- oh, stop it with that look.”

The wide eyed one Star was utilizing to be precise, one she seemed to have no interest in cutting off anytime soon. “It’s a _family dinner_ , Dad! Everyone wants you to stay, right?”

“Y-yeah!” Was Dipper’s immediate response, followed by an enthusiastic “Duh!” from Mabel, clicking away intensely at her knitting. Stan grunted from his frying pan, and Ford swallowed down the knowledge that his true answer was likely a no. Hardly surprising, given their ‘agreement’ the night before about Ford’s involvement with the children.

“See?” Star tugged at him and Ford, he was ready to pull away, resolute in his goal, when Stan’s voice cut him off. 

“Just sit down already.” His tone was hardly friendly, rough and flat and bordering on an order that made Ford bristle. He turned in time to see Stan walking up to them, no, to Star, holding out a plate full of grilled cheese sandwiches. “Now here’s some _real_ earth cooking for ya, space kid. Bet your cooky scifi adventures didn’t have this.”

“Ooooooo!” Star grabbed at the plate, her enthusiasm almost tripping her up. Both Ford and Stan reached out incase she did fall but she recovered, leaving the two old men to glance at each other before looking away yet again.

“Mabel, no knitting at the table. What are we a… a craft- y’know what, just put it away.” Stan grumbled as Ford took a tentative seat, very much to Dipper’s delight.

Mabel clicked her tongue to her teeth. “I’m almost done, Grunkle Stan!”

“Almost done with what?” Ford questioned, taking the plate away from his daughter as she started to curiously pull the pieces of bread apart. 

“With- a drum roll, please!” Mabel requested, grinning as Star started slapping the table with her fingers and Dipper followed suit with a shake of his head. Mabel then pulled the blue mass of wool from her lap, one shaped by her needles into what looked like a very long sweater. “Boom, sweater dress! There’s no way my cuz is gonna walk around any longer in Grunkle Stan’s smelly old man shirts!”

“You made that in a day?” Ford’s asked, somewhat flabberghasted (and impressed) only to be cut off by Star’s delight.

“Mabel! A sweater dress! I don’t even know what that _is_ but I’m going to try it on _right now!_ ”

And Star was out the door, snatched the dress from Mabel’s hands as she went. Mabel stood immediately, following after with a “Wait! I got the perfect belt to match too!”

The three men of the kitchen watched them go, gazes broken when Dipper coughed. “I never thought I’d meet someone as uh… enthusiastic as Mabel.” A small crash made his brow raise. “Or more so.”

“Star has always held an incredibly curious mind and a thirst to learn and experience new things.” Ford responded, a fondness apparent in his tone. “I’ve told her a lot about this dimension, I can’t say I’m surprised she’s dived into it, headfirst and blindly in some cases.”

“How did you meet her?” Dipper’s own incredible curiosity was dripping from his tone, a small strain in his voice as though he was desperately stopping himself from bombarding the man with question after question. 

Ford glanced to the grill where Stanley had his back turned to them, apparently working on whatever else was going with their sandwiches. He cleared his throat. “Ah, well, that’s quite a long tale, too long for dinner conversation.”

Dipper’s crestfallen look gripped at him and Ford found himself continuing hesitantly. “The short story is her parents entrusted her to me. At the time they didn’t… have many options.” Even a small tidbit of information seemed to fuel something in Dipper, not satisfying him but make his look hungry for more.

Ford couldn’t help the smile cracking across his lips. The boy was truly a kindred spirit. “Perhaps we can speak of it more another time.”

Dipper’s eyes lit up. “Yes! I mean, that’d be great, yeah. Totally have time on my calendar for that.”

It was all Ford could do to not reach out and ruffle Dipper’s hair. The clang of a pot against the stove made it clear to him Stanley wasn’t pleased by the conversation, so he refrained.

Thankfully a flurry of footsteps distracted them all, the herald of Mabel bursting in. “Gentleman and Dipper-“

“Hey!” Dipper started sourly, only to be interrupted back by Mabel. 

“-I’d like to present Star, rocking a Mabel Couture sweater dress and… well basically that. I let her borrow some socks too- Star! This is when you come in!”

“Oh, right!” Star answered before bursting in as well, glancing to Mabel as she did. “Like that?”

Mabel’s response was a resounding two thumbs up. “Nailed it, cuz.”

Ford’s brow rose as he took in Star’s new get up- Mabel’s sweater dress was a pale blue that faded to white at the hem just as it reached her knees. There was an old belt around her waist, covered in small rhinestones (though Ford stared a moment, wondering just how wealthy Mabel’s family was) and colorful stickers here and there. Her sleeves were down to her elbows, loose and comfortable, and the high socks Mabel gave her were rainbow and garish against the sturdy, worn and still somewhat dirty boots Star had worn out of the portal.

There was something in his throat, something difficult to swallow, stuck against the walls. For the first time in a great many years Star looked her age, looked like the kind of kids he remembered before he had to relearn what childhood was in a strange, unfriendly land. She was clean, she was safer than she’d ever been.

“Nice duds, space kid. That means clothes in Earth speak, got it?” Stan’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts and he stood just as Star beamed at her uncle. 

“Well?” She asked Ford, who just smiled down at her and put a hand on her shoulder quietly.

“You look wonderful.” He answered, before his eyes found Mabel. “Mabel, this is perfect. I can’t thank you enough.”

“Pshaw!” Mabel waved him off, though she was clearly pleased. “It’s all in a day’s work for a master fashionista such as myself, Great Uncle Ford!”

Stan piped in, pulling a pot of what could only be soup from the stove top. “Yeah yeah, everyone’s great and Mabel’s ability to knit borders on frightening. C’mon, I didn’t slave over a hot toaster and grill so my food could go cold.”

—

Stan, surprisingly, was the first to leave the table, finishing his sandwich and mumbling something about needing to go over some figures. Star watched him go, watched him through the dinner itself, really, the way her new Uncle would stiffen whenever Dipper’s rather blatant hero worship of Ford was too intense or when something Ford said made Mabel laugh in delight.

Ford, she realized, wasn’t much better, leaving soon after Stan did with another few words of thanks to Mabel and a dramatic sweep of his coat. Star watched him too, the way he’d glance over to Stan occasionally, how his own shoulders would tighten when he looked away and back to his meal.

When the elevator dinged closed Star slumped, elbow on the table and chin resting sluggishly in her hand. “I don’t get it! Why are they so stubborn?”

Both Mabel and Dipper glanced up at her curiously, and she huffed out a breath. “Dad and Uncle Stan! I _know_ Dad missed him, and Uncle Stan’s just being sour. Why are they wasting time being grumpy?”

“I _know!_ ” Mabel sounded ecstatic at the chance to throw her two cents in on this topic, rustling through her sleeves to produce a paper that she slapped on the table. On it was a grid with all the family’s faces. “Look at my Pines family happiness chart, it’s all thrown off!”

“Mabel, the last time you tried to do anything about a group’s happiness you almost tore the whole group apart.” Dipper felt it prudent to mention, and Mabel’s scoffed.

“Yes but everything worked out in the end, and I learned all sorts of valuable lessons and junk! Besides, this is different! This is family, Dipper! And family hugs it out!”

Star stared at the paper, clearly enthralled by the little drawing of her. “I am so cute…”

“Ok, I mean you’re right, they both seem pretty… unhappy.” Dipper offered hesitantly. “But this is probably something they should figure out on their own, right?”

“The last time they tried to do that they ended up not seeing each other for ten years then fighting and losing another thirty.” Star countered. The twins glanced to each other, unable to really argue that.

Dipper sighed. “Alright but… what would we even do _if_ we were going to do something?”

A silence fell over the table as the group thought it over, broken by Mabel’s voice. “Lock them in a closet until they get along?”

Dipper grimaced. “No, Grunkle Stan gets weird about being locked in small places, remember when he got stuck in the supply closet?”

“Right…” Mabel grumbled, then, “Oh, oh! What about we stage a big kidnapping and one will have to save the other! It will totally show them how much they care and there will be _so_ many hugs!”

This time Star winced. “Welllll that might not work, Dad’s a little uh… let’s say there’s a good chance he’d overreact and you know, hurt someone.” She explained. “We kinda had to deal with the kidnapping thing a lot, he doesn’t have much patience for it.”

“Boo!” Mabel flopped on the table, arms stretched out. “Ugh, their old man issues are making this so much harder!”

“Maybe we should try to figure out why they’re both being like this in the first place.” Dipper tried after a beat. “I mean, we don’t even really know what the problem is. For now all we can do is get more information and maybe try to give them more chances to talk.”

“That’s your nerd brain at work!” Mabel exclaimed, grinning as she hooked her arm around Dipper’s neck, getting a choked ‘Mabel!’ for her efforts. “We’ll be like spies! I have just the sunglasses for the job.”

Star watched them fuss, Dipper pushing Mabel away with an exasperated laugh, and smiled. With the two of them it was easy to think of the stories Ford told her of his childhood, of the worn picture of two little boys on a boat. _This_ was what he wanted again, she knew it. She couldn’t help but feel a twinge of something like jealousy even, before slapping her hands together.

“Then it’s settled! Operation, uh… Operation Pines is underway!”


	3. the mall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To the mall.

Even in the murky dimness of the underground room Star seemed to glow.

Ford smiled down at her from his seat, at the chubby little thing swaddled in blankets, staring up at him from her makeshift crib. The blankets were hardly befitting of royalty but the entire room was a cell, dank and quiet and lifeless. The Mewni army- no, now more a resistance than a standing force - had to burrow deep against the invading army, against the forces Ford strongly suspected had backing from Bill himself.

In enough time Mewni would be another jewel in Bill’s proverbial crown, no doubt, or the trophy of some mortal fool who shook his hand and thought their dreams would come true. Over fifteen years in Bill’s multiverse, fifteen long years of running and running and _surviving_ and sometimes Ford still felt as helpless and bumbling as he did when he first fell through the portal.

The gloom hanging off Ford’s brow made Star squirm, raise her pudgy fingers until his attention returned to her with a soft smile. He raised his hand, twirling a stray and long dead pen swiftly through his tired, aching fingers and received a delighted gurgle in return. She reached out further and Ford lowered his hand, letting her grab at his fingers with glee.

When her small hand wrapped around his sixth finger he let out his bemusement in a breath. “You know for a long time I hated that finger.”

Star’s big, blue eyes blinked up at him, in time to punctuate his strange confession. For a split moment he felt silly, though it passed as many others before it had. Far too many times he only had the sound of his own voice to keep him company, and the struggle to try and help what was left of Mewni’s kingdom drained him to a slow kind of apathy over things like image.

“Perhaps not hate, but… it was complicated,” he continued as Star’s hands roamed to the smooth surface of the pen. “Funny how things get put in perspective when your life’s on the line.”

He pulled the pen away, eliciting a soft ‘gah’ from Star. He suppressed a chuckle, placing the old pen in his pocket. “Shh, it’s alright. I’m not sure this is something you should be chewing on. When you’re older you can have all the pens you want, just-“

The words died on his tongue, swallowed back down his throat thickly. “When you’re older,” he repeated, feeling the weight of the statement, the unease at how unlikely such a thing might be. There was still blood in the halls from the wounded being dragged back from battle, his chest still ached from watching the queen stare silently ahead when the scouts informed her the king hadn’t been found amongst the survivors.

‘When you’re older,’ he wanted to promise, and he could feel Bill’s knowing gaze down his back.

“Stanford?”

Ford started, rounding protectively in front of the crib until the figure at the door made his mind ease. The queen of Mewni always stood tall, hands folded demurely but firmly in front of her, as poised as she was when they first met and her kingdom was not yet in shambles. Even in rags and exhaustion she was regal.

There was a soft, almost uncharacteristic smile on her lips, faint but there as she stepped in. “Busy?”

“No, I was just-“ He glanced to Star, who gurgled unhelpfully back. “-just checking on Star.”

“Ah,” Queen Butterfly walked to the crib, reaching out to brush at the hearts on her child’s cheeks as she did. “Was Mr. Pines keeping you company?”

Star’s response was more squirming, prompting her mother to lift her up and ease Star in her arms. Star settled happily, reaching up as if to brush the diamonds on her mother’s cheeks right back.

Hearts and diamonds, like a deck of cards, Ford mused. The patterns on their cheeks seemed to belong to the royal family alone, possibly only to the females from what Ford had seen of the humanoid species. Not for the first time he resisted the urge to ask, to throw question after question and record it all. Not for the first time he felt a surge of regret that those small wonders sometimes escaped him.

“I appreciate it, Stanford.” The queen was speaking and Ford pressed his thoughts away, focused on the now grim line of the queen’s mouth. “All of us, Mewni appreciates what you’ve done in our time of need.”

_What you tried to do_ , Ford’s mind supplied, the finality of the queen’s words sending a sick chill through his spine. She was never one speak simply for the sake of conversation, there was always a point to her words and this sudden, quiet gratitude told Ford that she too felt that an end was coming.

“It’s not over yet,” he tried and it felt clumsy on his own lips, lit only with a determination he survived on day in and day out. Just one more day, just one more battle, one more try.

Queen Butterfly didn’t smile but the lines around her eyes were tired and kind.

“No, it’s not, but we can all plainly see the odds are stacked almost impossibly against us.” The queen didn’t miss a beat, rocking Star gently as she spoke. “He will not accept peace and he will not accept surrender, you know this. It is my duty to stand with my kingdom until the very last.”

When their eyes met Ford felt his throat tighten, even as the queen’s tone remained collected, calm. “You do not need to fall with us.”

“I can hardly walk away now,” he pressed, weak in his own ears. “You didn’t have to take me in when you did, without you-“

“I don’t want Mewni to be your grave, Stanford.” Queen Butterfly’s tone was final in the effortless ease of a ruler from birth, cutting him off, making him swallow his words. “Besides, you have your own goal to accomplish, don’t you? One that might avenge Mewni should she fall.”

Ford bit his tongue, glancing away to the dank, muddy walls surrounding them. Star’s quiet ‘gahs’ felt out of place, as foreign to the scene as her bright, cheerful eyes were to the dreary halls they were cooped up in. 

“Part of you has given up.” It was a statement more than an accusation, an unfortunate truth that the last of Mewni’s great army was now in walking shambles, trying to survive against a force that had already stormed the castle and now sought out the last of the kingdom’s line and the magic power behind it. 

When the queen said nothing Ford glanced back over, wondering if she took offense, only to find her smiling a sad curve of her lips down at Star. “Part of me is a mother, not a queen. A queen will stand by her people against all odds. A mother…”

Her hand rested on Star’s cheek, the sad smile crinkling around her eyes. “A mother wants what’s best for her child. A mother wants her child to be safe.”

When she raised her head back to Ford the smile, the melancholy, was gone, replaced with a firm and unwavering stare. “I don’t want you to leave purely out of the goodness of my heart, or out of gratitude for what you’ve done for us. Stanford, I… I must ask you one last favor.”

She stepped forward, hesitant only a moment as she looked back down at Star before holding the child out to Ford. “Please go, and take Star with you.”

“You-“ The word left Ford in a tumble, jostled out by shock at the request. Star remained between them, little fists sailing through the air as she began to fuss in huffy little breaths. It was enough to snap him back, a thousand scenarios that ended in Star slaughtered before she was able to speak filtering through his head in a torrent. 

His shoulders tensed, a firm line. “She wouldn’t be safe with me. You know what hunts me, your majesty. You’d be subjecting her to running for the rest of her life, what hunts me would hunt her as well, you can’t possibly think it’d be a life worthy of her.”

“She wouldn’t be safe anywhere,” the queen returned, eyes shutting and brow heavy. “Even if I could find her a peaceful family to take her in, one that could hide who she was for a time, one day she would be found out. I would rather her be prepared when that happened, with someone who can protect her and teach her, someone who knows _how._ ”

A silence stretched between them, punctured only when Ford’s breath came out in a shaking sigh.

“I can’t promise to protect her,” Ford answered, heart heavy. “You know I can’t.”

“You can promise to try.”

Ford swallowed, glancing down at the child now close to crying between them. He reached out almost instinctively to try to calm her, old habits from when he was so very young, seventeen and charged with babysitting Shermie’s son with Stanley by his side. His hands faltered, hesitating only a moment more before he took Star to his chest, watching the beginnings of her tantrum melt away at the attention.

He tried to force a smile for the girl as she grabbed at the front of his shirt, cooing. 

“I can barely protect myself,” he admitted quietly to the room, to himself, an admission of helplessness that made something in him twist.

When the queen spoke again her tone was strained, aching in it’s exhaustion. He regretted glancing up to see the defeat on her face, etched heavily in all the lines around her eyes. It felt like an invasion of privacy, a moment someone so poised could hardly wish anyone to see.

But she reached out, placing a hand on his forearm, eyes dull and tired and still on Star as she gave his arm a gentle squeeze. “I’m sorry, Stanford. I know what I’m asking is unfair, if there was any other way… but there isn’t. We’re running out of time, this may be the last chance you have to escape with Star before it all comes crashing down.

“I can only ask you take her, try and protect her, try and find a place she’ll be safe if you can’t keep her with you. Perhaps if I survive we’ll meet again, perhaps Star will one day be able to reclaim her homeland, but-“

Queen Butterfly trailed off, and Stanford kept the silence. They both watched Star who merely fussed in small, hiccuping breaths. 

“I’ll help her escape,” Ford finally said, tone and eyes heavy like sinking. “All I can promise is I’ll try, to find her a safe place, or to keep her safe while I do so. It wouldn’t be safe with me.”

“That’s all I can ask.” The queen nodded, her gratitude leaden even in it’s sincerity.

She moved her hand to Star’s cheek once more, eyes softening. “Oh Star, I wanted so much more for you.”

Within the next week the last of Mewni fell, Stanford and Star far, far away from the lingering destruction.

 

——

 

In a strange, bitter way the rift was beautiful.

Ford leaned back in his chair in a rare moment of stillness after what felt like an unending flurry of activity in the days since his return. Before him the rift lay contained on his desk, encased in glass which was sadly one of the few materials that could do the job despite it’s fragility. The tear bobbed like liquid, spilled out the fabric of a galaxy and hints of stars just beyond it’s edges.

For moment his mind went to Bill, like it too often did, how the demon ( _liar_ ) would say there’s something enthralling about destruction encased in a neat little ball. Ford closed his eyes until stars burst against his eyelids, blinking rapidly when they did, and then the intrusive thought was gone.

He sighed into the stale air of the basement, looking away from their imminent, possible destruction and up to the high ceiling of the lab. The easy part, or at least the more defined bit of his plan, was done. The rift was contained, it was as safe as he could manage at the moment and now-

And now.

Ford’s fingers went up to the bridge of his nose. “And now what?”

The room didn’t answer, which he was honestly grateful for. With a creak of his old bones he pushed himself forward, resting his elbows on the desk. Yes, now what indeed. He parsed the possibilities out as he had many times before, finding it as unsatisfactory as he did the first time and the next.

The truth was simple: the rift needed mending or constant guard. 

It continued like this: he had no real way of mending the tear, perhaps inklings here and there of how to go about it but few solid leads. Any experimentation on the matter could be life or death, any flaws in theories could tear the fabric of this reality all the more. 

He was… stuck. After years and years of moving constantly there was a standstill, here he was in Gravity Falls, scratching his head again, strangled in his own desperation for a lead, a start, _anything._

His pulse throbbed a dull pain behind his eyes and he rubbed the bridge of his nose. Well, constant intense vigilance was key even now, even if he did manage to find a way to close the tear, but how long could it possibly go on? How long did he have before he could no longer guard the damned thing?

Even if he did live to ninety (as that _liar_ liked to joke) that was only another thirty years. Who would he pass down responsibility for the universe’s safety to? Star, of course, was his first thought, one he quickly swallowed back down. He desperately wanted to say no, he couldn’t let his legacy to Star be a lifetime of servitude, it couldn’t be expecting Star to pour the rest of her years into guarding his mistake. She deserved better from him, so much better than he had ever been able to give her. 

Of course he knew if it came down to it he would have to ask it of her, she would understand the needs of the universe came before their own. This universe could be her home, she could make a life here, follow in his footsteps, maybe even find happiness that way-

Ford ran a hand over his face, glasses raising awkwardly to his forehead. Whatever the case, even if that was to be his trump card, he couldn’t stop trying to find a way to avoid it all. This was just… just a backup incase he couldn’t.

So the real plan: mending the tear. There was, of course, something that may have the power to mend even a tear between dimensions. The thought crossed Ford’s mind with a distinct unease, hand reaching to a familiar lump in one of the inner pockets of his coat.

The lump was a bundle of cloth, one he set down carefully on a side of the desk far from the rift. He shifted the fabric, enough that a red handle peeked out from the folds. There was a gold design at the tip of the handle, runes even he didn’t recognize though some he did. Even in the dim light of the basement he could feel a power thrumming from the bundle.

No, not bundle, from Star’s inheritance, the last thing Star’s mother handed him before their escape. It was the last legacy of the royal line of Mewni. 

_This is Star’s birthright,_ the queen of Mewni told him almost fifteen years ago. Back then the staff had been a pale blue, topped with a gem and regal, just like it’s owner. _This is what he wants, not just my kingdom but this wand and it’s potential. One day, when she is old enough and ready, give this to her._

_How will I know?_ Ford had asked, and the smile Queen Butterfly gave him was thin.

_I don’t know, Stanford. By the time she is you’ll know her better than I do._

There was little time for lessons but the queen taught him some all the same, about the potential for magic in every being, about how the wand accented natural inclinations of it’s wielder, of a whispering spell she told him to tell Star in case one day the wand needed to be destroyed.

Ford pulled the cloth away, taking in the red and gold design, a long red handle tapering into more golden runes, the orb at the top far too much like a golden eye for his liking. The first time he grasped the wand in some desperate effort to save his and Star’s life it had changed, as if to fit whoever’s palm it found itself in. In his it became this, some vague mockery of journals lost a dimension away.

If anything had some innate ability to close the tear it had to be the wand. The problem was the wand was volatile, a dangerous force that could cause chaos if it collided at all with another dangerous force like the rift. He had only used the wand a couple of times and each time left him feeling overwhelmed, troubled.

He stared hard at the wand- he could learn to use it, try and find a way to craft it to an instrument that could mend the tear. It felt dishonest in some way, like stealing Star’s birthright for his own use, possibly causing more damage than good if any mishandling occurred.

Of course if he gave it back to Star, if he asked her for help in mending the rift-

“Daaaaaaad dad dad dad dad!”

Ford started, quickly covering the rift with the cloth he had the wand bundled in. Star came bounding in shortly after, stopping a few feet away. “Dad I- oh, are you looking at the wand?”

The way her eyes sparkled in excitement made his brow raise, lips quirking despite himself. “No,” he answered her unspoken question and she groaned.

“Aw, but I’m totally mature enough for crazy magical powers!”

“If what I heard at breakfast was right you spent all night watching television and nearly broke Stan’s neck when he tripped over you passed out on the floor.”

Star made a face. “No fair! Grunkle Stan said you used to sleep in weird places like that all the time! And you totally still do!”

“Stan’s exaggerating.” Stan wasn’t exaggerating. He decided to tactfully ignore that fact. “Besides I’m an old man and you’re not eighteen yet. We’ve talked about this.”

“I knoooow.” Star groaned, though she was quick to rebound. “But we’re not running anymore, we don’t have to worry about the wand running out of power or people tracing magical signatures or whatever that jazz was, right?

“Besides, I can be the one to protect you for once.” Star’s bright eyed enthusiasm made something catch in his throat, struggling against her sincerity. “I can learn all sorts of cool magic business and bam! You can kick back and complain about kids on your lawn or something? That’s what Mabel says old people do.”

Ford shook his head, bemusement leaking into the curve of his lips as he reached over to place a hand on Star’s. “… I’ll think about it, how’s that? Maybe when things settle we can start testing the wand and your capabilities. There’s so much we still don’t know.”

“Yes! You mean it?” Star’s eyes were wide and bright as Ford nodded.

“As long as you keep proving yourself to be as mature as you claim and not falling asleep and inadvertently trying to cripple your grunkle.”

“I was watching a marathon of some space guys making friends with aliens, and then a human sold knives for cooking vegetables for like two hours.” Star promptly informed him.

And he couldn’t help but acquiesce, “Well, that is a hard set of programing to say no to.”

Star beamed before collecting herself with a sudden intensity. “Oh! I came down here because we’re going to-“ She raised her hands, sweeping them out dramatically. “-the mall.”

“The mall?” Ford’s question trailed off, as if the words were taking a moment to click in his brain. When they did he straightened, nodded. “Ah, yes, Stanley and I used to spend a lot of time there back when we were teenagers. Well, when Stanley wasn’t causing trouble that I was in no way a part of and getting us run out.”

Star somehow seemed to doubt the validity of her father’s proclaimed innocence there, though she was too distracted by the wistful edge to his tone to call him out. 

“It sounds like you _really_ missed Uncle Stan and all your youthful mall adventures! And what do you know, he’s coming with us _to_ a mall!”

“Star…” Ford started, only to be cut off.

“So you’ll come!” Star quickly pushed, watching the predictable way Ford’s expression took a guilty edge, ready to say no. She charged ahead unwaveringly. “C’mon, you need new clothes too. It’s human summer, dad, who wears sweaters in the human summer?”

“You’re wearing a sweater right now, Star.” Ford unfairly pointed out, lips quirking and melting away the guilty look from before.

Star scoffed, even through the vague surge of victory. “Yeah but I’m doing it for _fashion_ , dad. You’re doing it because… I don’t know? Old man human stubbornness?”

“I’ll be fine with my perfectly serviceable _and_ fashionable sweater.” Ford waved a hand. “It’s alright, you don’t have to worry about me. Go on and have fun.”

Star’s stare cut at him sharply, forcing him to glance away. “But…”

“Star.” He tried for firm, even as he put a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, I- you know I have work. Besides, someone needs to stay behind to watch the house, right?”

At Star’s reluctant nod he eased somewhat. “Now, do you have some weapons on you?”

“Yup!” Star reached into her boot, pulling out what looked like a nasty little taser that she zapped into the air. “I could have a gun in my belt but Dipper says this dimension doesn’t like ‘openly carrying firearms’ or some weird human stuff like that.”

“Oh right… well, that should do hopefully. Try to follow Stan’s lead on what’s a threat or not, I don’t remember exactly anymore. It probably wouldn’t do to send a civilian to the hospital,” Ford mused.

“Got it, no beating anyone to a pulp unless they deserve it.” Star’s chipper attitude drained at the end again as she eyed him quietly. “Are you sure you’ll be alright?”

Ford smiled down at her. “I’ll be fine, just promise to be safe and have fun.”

He watched her as she went back into the elevator before turning back to the wand. “Maybe it is time for you to have it,” he muttered to the still air of the basement, before sighing and getting back to work.

 

——

 

“He’s not coming.” Star sighed as she walked up to Mabel and Dipper at the front door of the Shack, waiting for her to get back from the basement. “Looks like Operation Pines is on hold for now.”

“Boooo— well, we can still try and squeeze some info from Grunkle Stan!” Mabel’s cheer quickly returned, nudging Star with her elbow. “Don’t worry, I got his number. He’ll be singing like a canary when I’m through with him.”

“Mabel’s really good at badgering information out of people.” Dipper supplied helpfully as they walked towards the car, completely sincere in his compliment.

Mabel shrugged with a grin. “It’s a talent, what can I say?”

They piled into the back of the car, receiving a huff from Stan already in the driver’s seat as they did. Star couldn’t help but take in the interior with wide eyes. She wasn’t sure if the car looked more or less advanced than the clunkers she and Ford dealt with from time to time.

“Took ya long enough. We’re going to the thrift store, that’s it,” Stanley grumbled, hooking his seatbelt over his chest. “Mabel, teach Star what a seatbelt is and stop bouncing back there.”

“We’re going to the mall!” Mabel ignored Stan’s orders to her grunkle’s sigh, letting Dipper lean over her and show Star where her seatbelt buckle went. “I have a whole list, Grunkle Stan! A list of very important teenage girl needs!”

“Do I look like I’m made of money here? She already has one outfit, can’t she just Dipper it and go with that?” Stan huffed.

Dipper was quick to come to his own defense. “I own more than one outfit! I just don’t have time to change it up, alright? I’m a busy guy!”

“Dipper takes off his vest and shoes and thinks that’s pajamas,” Mabel interjected, to Dipper’s continuously affronted look and Star’s tilted head.

“Dad doesn’t even take off his shoes or jacket half the time.”

“ _See?_ ” Dipper exclaimed, as if Ford’s habits were something to be emulated.

It was certainly enough to make Stan groan. “This almost makes me want to buy you a proper pair of pjs. _Almost._ And where’s the nerd anyway, I thought you said he was coming.”

Star glanced away, expression wilting around the edges in a way that made Stan’s shoulders tense. “He’s busy doing science stuff, you know, ‘important weird work, blah blah blah.’”

“Figures,” Stan mumbled, starting up the car. When he glanced to the passenger seat Soos grinned at him. “And why are you here then?”

“Moral support, dude.” Soos gave him a thumbs up.

“Oi,” was all Stan had to say to that, peeling out of the driveway and down the long road to Gravity falls.

 

This ‘mall’ was one of the stranger things Star had seen in her time in Gravity Falls so far. It was like one of the open aired bazaars she and Ford had stumbled through time to time, only this was fragmented somehow, almost clinical in it’s neat row of boxed in stores. She glanced around with wide eyes as they walked through the entrance, past sickly plants in large pots and throngs of people mulling here in there in little groups.

It was different, exciting and new yet some part of her missed the sort of markets her father used to bring her to when they had the extra funds, when they could risk exposure as long as their faces were covered and they were quickly in and out. They always bought something interesting if they could, something useless but fun. _Morale’s important,_ Ford would tell her, trying for some sort of grandiose posturing before a grin split his face and he admitted, _and this_ is _pretty cool._

The memory was warm but it still settled unpleasantly in her gut. She couldn’t remember the last time she was willingly this far from Ford, though she could easily remember the few times they were unwillingly separated, none of which were pleasant memories. It was like an instinct honed right into her head— keep close, grab his sleeve in large crowds, watch his back because they were the only defense the other had, even if Ford always insisted she didn’t need to worry about him.

It was a creeping feeling down her spine, one like everything’s fine _but_ , but what if it isn’t? What if someone comes for him when Star was away? What if something crawled through the old portal, the carcass of what the portal was? What if Star never even got to say goodbye?

“Here’s a good place!” Mabel’s words cracked through Star’s creeping thoughts, and she glanced up to see her presumably younger cousin gesturing to a brightly lit store.

“I said thrift!” Stan answered for her, walking over to try and butt heads with Mabel’s stubborn insistence. 

Dipper watched the pair in amusement, Star figured he must be old hat at their debates after so long. She was almost surprised when Soos walked over to her, standing by her side and glancing down with an open friendliness that seemed natural to him.

“Hey uh- your majesty, I guess?”

“Star’s fine.” Star replied, surprised again when Soos shook his head like that was the wrong answer.

“Nah dude, I mean don’t get me wrong, Star’s a super cool name but you’re like… a real life princess from space. You totally have to go for the titles sometimes.”

Star tilted her head, brow scrunching. Her title always felt a little empty to her, but— “You really think so?”

“Totally.” Soos responded, something sage in his tone. “Trust me, I’ve seen like every fantasy movie ever, probably. You could have knights, dude.”

Star couldn’t help her eyes widening at the thought. “I want knights…”

“Don’t we all.” Soos put a hand over his chest in solidarity before his smile softened. “That’s way better though, you were really quiet on the way here. Even Mr. Pines look worried and he’s probably got a PHD in hiding how he feels with grumpiness.”

“I wasn’t—!” Star started, stopped, then scratched at her cheek. “You… really noticed that?”

“Sure did, royal-dude. I mean, you’re a part of the Pines family, right?”

Soos’s look was so earnest, so matter-of-fact that Star couldn’t help but smile immediately back. “I am,” she answered, and it did feel true. Maybe there was a part of her, a small part that was worried how Stan, Dipper and Mabel would react to her presence when she first came through. It was a part that withered away quickly, they were just—

She glanced over, watching Mabel waving a pad of paper in Stan’s face as he turned away, crossing his arms grumpily. Dipper caught her look and offered and amused smile and a roll of his eyes. She smiled back.

Maybe she didn’t know a lot about it but she thought this was probably what family felt like.

“I can be louder,” she told Soos, brow suddenly furrowed in determination, “I can be _so_ loud, you don’t even know!”

“That’s the spirit,” Soos sounded pleased and she pumped her fist in the air before calming somewhat.

“I’m just… I’m worried about my dad, you know? We were never really apart before, because—“ Star frowned, crossing her arms over her chest. “Well anyway, the past few day’s I’ve barely seen him! What if something happens when we’re gone?”

She huffed out a breath, blowing at her messy bangs. “I’m supposed to be trying to be all ‘mature’ now, he’d probably think I was being a big baby about everything.”

“No way, dude,” Soos was quick to interject, a small frown on his lips. “I don’t know other Mr. Pines that well yet, besides my intensive analysis of his and Mr. Pines’s tragic backstory, but like… you’re his kid, right? He’d totally get that you miss him and stuff, if you told him.”

“You think?” Star glanced over, face scrunched. Soos just nodded.

“Absolutely. He probably misses you too.”

Star glanced at the ground, brow furrowing deeply before she looked back up at Soos solemnly. “Soos, you are _so_ wise.”

“Like a guru, royal-dude.” 

Star grinned at him as he adjusted his hat rather regally in response. She turned, feeling renewed as she headed over to Stan and Mabel, still bickering over the list now in Stan’s hands.

“Why does she need nail polish? Why can’t she use yours?”

“She can use mine, she just needs her own!”

Star watched them go at it, brow raised. “Wow, so this is the power of family bickering.”

“Tell me about it,” Dipper replied before gesturing behind him. “Come on, they’ll be at it for a while, we can go see some of the shops if you want.”

“Oooo, let’s go!” Star grabbed his arm, dragging him to the first store that caught her eye.

 

——

 

By the time they were done Star had two large bags at her feet as they sat in the car, chomping on a pretzel as Dipper grinned over the large box in his lap.

“I can’t believe they had D, D, and More D!” he exclaimed. Star grinned around her pretzel, he was almost like Mabel when he was this excited, bouncing in his seat until he caught himself and coughed. “I mean, it’s a great game!”

“Oh boy, it isn’t that nerd game, is it?” Stan sounded about as grumpy as he did before, Star decided, probably because Mabel got him to buy more than the twenty dollars he swore was his budget. “Math, the boring adventure?”

“It’s not boring!” Dipper griped, hugging he box closer to him as the car slowed in front of the Shack. 

“Well _I_ think this was a rousing success,” Mabel hopped out of the car as it came to a stop, helping Star with one of her bags. “Dipper got his boring nerd game, Star got to try pretzels, everyone’s happy!”

“Tell that to my wallet,” Stan muttered, though he took the bag from her when she started dragging it across the ground.

Star grinned as she followed, ready to make a b-line for the elevator when someone in the front doorway blocked her way. “Dad?”

Ford blinked down at her as if he was caught, a sheepish look crossing his face before it was quickly chased away. “Ah, Star, good, I was… just coming up to see if you were back yet.”

After so many years it was easy to spot his tells, the way his fingers twitched against the doorframe, the hasty way he glanced her over for anything off. The knot of tension she could help but carry throughout the trip eased, and she could almost spot as his did too. 

“Ha! You were worried about me, weren’t you?” She beamed, and he adjusted his glasses awkwardly. “You were!”

“Well you _were_ at a mall. Those are dangerous places, you know, full of unknowns and _teenagers._ ” Ford huffed.

“Dad, I’m a teenager.”

And the way he smiled and patted her head made her grin back. “Yes, and you’re a very dangerous one at that. I couldn’t be more proud.”

He picked up her other bag, following the rest of the family in with Star at his heels, holding out her pretzel. 

“I was worried too,” she admitted after a beat, watching his look soften just around the edges, tinged with a touch of guilt. She shoved the pretzel further in his face in retaliation. “I saved you half my pretzel. It’s _cinnamon._ ”

Ford shook his head as he accepted it. “We’re going to have a lot to get used to, aren’t we?”

“If it’s stuff like cool cinnamon pretzels then I’m so ready.” Star informed him, feet dragging with her mood until she stopped. Ford stopped as well, turning to face her. “That doesn’t mean I have to get used to you not being around, right? You’ve been stuck in the basement so much, I haven’t even seen you in like, forever! Or a few days, but still!”

“Star, it’s—“ Ford started, only for Star to frown.

“Are you going to say ‘complicated?’”

He hesitated, glancing away hastily. Nailed it, she thought.

“I have my reasons for staying in the basement,” he finally offered, glancing down the hall as if expecting someone to head down it. Uncle Stan, Star assumed, since he has the same tense look they both had whenever they were in the same room.

Operation Pines couldn’t happen fast enough, she decided.

“But,” he continued, making her straighten, “That’s no reason you can’t come down to visit me more, if you’d like. I do actually have a lot of work to do, don’t make that face—“ She was definitely making a face, though she squashed it with an innocent look. “—I admit, it gets a little lonely sometimes.”

It was somewhat rare to get an admission like that from Ford, and she couldn’t help but smile as she hooked her arm in his, nearly throwing him off balance. “Well, I _guess_ I can take time out of my very busy schedule here.”

Ford’s lips quirked, dry but warm at the ends. “How kind of you, my dear. Now come on, let’s see what you managed to weasel Stan into getting you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> firstly just the whole 'shermie's son' thing is supposed to be the baby ma is seen with in tale of two stans, if anyone's wondering. i usually go with shermie being their older brother because if shermie's the baby that's a lot of teen pregnancy to get to mabel and dipper...
> 
> secondly if you somehow haven't seen this http://cirilee.tumblr.com/post/144245720277/sensitiveowls-fic-in-the-new-days-will-be-the !!! cirilee drew this fantastic thing for the crossover holy shit look at it, bask in it. look how cute star is


	4. walking stump

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> board games and the stans being fools

Star, if nothing else, was adaptable. It was a bit of a necessary skill to pick up when you were always on the move since birth, being chased by both seen and unseen forces in a string of universes whose landscapes tried to outdo each other in the strange factor. She imagined somewhere between an adorable toddler to an adorable kid she stopped putting much stock in things like normalcy or begrudging change.

That’s probably why it took her all of a few days to accept that the Pines family had a thing for loud, dramatic conversations just begging to be walked into.

“How can you even open this early?” Dipper’s whine greeted Star as she entered the living room that morning in a few bouncing, eager steps. She was just in time to see her cousin cross his arms and glower at Stan. “There’s still a crater in the parking lot!”

“A _small_ crater. I got two more mouths to feed, kid, I don’t have time to worry about little things like ‘fire codes’ and ‘customer safety.’” 

So change was normal, sure, but it didn’t mean Star couldn’t indulge in a little surprise here and there. Like this, here Stan was dressed to the nines with a suit and strange eight-ball cane, a wardrobe change so different from his usual dirty tanks and briefs that it made Star’s eyes widen as she approached. When he caught her surprise he grinned, back straighter than she could ever remember him bothering with.

Sort of like a pose, and boy, didn’t that remind her of Ford. In a somewhat rare moment of not poking at the elephant in the entire Shack she focused on Stan’s new (to her) duds instead.

“Whoa, Uncle Stan!” Star exclaimed, passing Dipper and his unimpressed look. “You look like those guys trying to get money on the television!”

Stan tapped his cane against the ground almost jauntily, clearly pleased at the comparison. “Ha, them? Those suckers got nothing on Mr. Mystery.”

“Thankfully, the world probably couldn’t take any more.” Dipper sighed as Stan fixed him with a Look, one of the many Star was beginning to recognize as she spent more time with the lot of them. This one felt like ‘keep that trap shut,’ she decided.

The way Stan harrumphed immediately pretty much sealed the deal.

“If the peanut gallery is done complaining then I have some real news- the Mystery Shack, Oregon landmark, darling of the tourist trade, is back in business as of tomorrow! That means you gremlins have some work you need to finish up to make sure it’s up and at ‘em for suckers- I mean, valued clientele.” 

Stan’s announcement was full of gusto yet had Dipper protesting before Star could even process some of the still foreign words and concepts. “But I had plans today! I just got my game and-“

“Yeesh, that nerd game again?” Stan was quick to interject, flipping his eyepatch up with a furrowed brow as his gaze bore down on Dipper. “If you’re going to waste time at least waste it doing something useful, not playing make believe with _math_.”

“It’s not a waste!” Dipper snapped back, arms still crossed tight against his chest in all the telltale signs of defensive indignation. 

Star frowned at the pose, glancing over to Stan who had a similar tightness of irritation around his shoulders. So they were fighting- was this fighting? That wouldn’t do, not when the point of Operation Pines was to _stop_ fighting. Having another fight was just adding fuel to the stubborn fight fire or… something. 

“Keep telling yourself that kid, now-“ Stan started as Star mused, stopping when Star let out a high, excited noise at a sudden, brilliant realization. “What?” 

The trepidation in his tone probably meant he was learning, but she ignored it in the face of sheer enthusiasm.

“I got it! I’m going to, wait for it- _mediate._ ” Star wiggled her fingers dramatically at the word, quickly bounding between them like a particularly stubborn bridge about to dole out some heavy wisdom. “I’ll do whatever you needed Dipper for and he can play his nerd game! Eh? It’s like, I murdered a bird with a rock.”

They both stared at her for a beat, clearly unused to her addition to an already established dynamic. Maybe this happened a lot, she mused. Dipper was the first to speak.

“Don’t you mean killed two- nevermind, would you really do that?” Dipper watched her for a beat, hope swelling obviously in his chest as Stan caught up and frowned.

“You know the plan was to make you _both_ do the work, I’m still outta a cheap laborer here.”

“Uncle Stan, I am a work _machine._ I can totally handle it!” Star interrupted him, patting his arm as if to temper his worries. 

It worked well enough that Stan rubbed his jaw, considering with obvious reluctance. “Well, y’did finish that roof up faster than Mabel on three shots of that nightmare juice…” When he trailed off he made the mistake at glancing down to find two pairs of eyes staring intensely up at him.

It took all of a minute for him to heft the most trying of sighs. “ _Fine,_ but don’t think you’re weaseling out of anymore work this week, kid.”

“I won’t!” Dipper’s glee was palpable, and he flashed Star a grin that she returned in an instant. “Thanks Star! I need to go find Soos or Mabel, oh man-“

With a grateful high-five to Star, Dipper rushed out, Stan calling after him as Star basked in a job well done, “Tell them to get their butts over here to help and-“ When it was clear Dipper hadn’t or didn’t want to hear a word in his escape Stan huffed. “What am I running here, a rec center?”

“What _are_ you running here?” Star’s question startled him, forcing his gaze to her with a raised brow. “What’s a Mystery Shack? Does it sell mysteries?”

The grin that split over Stan’s face was a showman’s through and through. “You don’t know the half of it, space kid. I’ll show you.”

 

——

 

Out of all the Shack and surrounding area the museum itself was one of the biggest messes following Ford and Star’s arrival. The structure held up well enough, a few cracks in the walls and foundation that were fixed in the preceding days (at far more cost than Stan wanted to think about, _ever_ ) but the real issue was the exhibits- or in this case what was left of them. The problem with supergluing a bunch of crap on a bunch of other crap was when the world turned upside down all those pieces weren’t exactly sturdy.

Yeah, needless to say a lot of crap was now scattered over the floor. Even the poor cornicorn lay decapitated by the doorframe, it’s kernel eyes staring up in muted betrayal at its continued miserable state.

Thankfully the easy thing about crap glued together was it didn’t take all that much to just glue it right back in place, and so what if the quality was a little low for a while? The Mystery Shack had a motto, or today’s temporary motto at least, and that was ‘quantity over quality.’ Aka if they glued enough stuff back together it’d probably be fine.

Looking at the only mildly tidied up wreckage of his exhibits Stan wasn’t entirely sure how strong that ‘fine’ was.

“Whoa, look at this!” 

Star squeezed around him, through the doorway and into the main museum space, apparently awed by what still hadn’t been cleaned up in the earlier days. She started at the cornicorn’s head and slowly panned out, nudging and prodding at pieces of Magic Tophat (Fits every head! Makes you good at puzzles? Sure!) and nearly tripping over the mysterious Walking Stump (Where are its feet? How does it move? It’ll _stump_ you!) Stan wasn’t much for metaphors, hell, he avoided them whenever he damn well could but something about the wreckage seemed fitting.

After all, it was trash in his brother’s eyes as far as he could tell, and it’d be taken out to pasture soon enough.

He breathed out his nose at the gloom grasping at his throat, trying to crawl its way through his skin as he resolutely stomped inside the museum. It didn’t matter now, did it? He could worry about closing the Shack when his time was over, and when that time came he’d need some damn money in his pocket. He wondered if Ford would even bother reimbursing him for the money he already spent for his brother and Star. Knowing his brother he’d be lucky to get a god damned goodbye when he inevitably kicked Stan to the curb.

The flash of cold irritation that ran through him caught and stumbled when Star shoved a headless and taxidermic armadillo with a saddle in his face. “What’s this?”

“What, you’ve never seen an armadillo before? Or _armor_ dillo. It’s the mount of the rat army.” He kneeled down to find a similarly taxidermy rat, complete with shining (plastic) armor and a smiling sun sticker on its back courtesy of Mabel. 

Star grabbed at the rat, voice reverent as she looked between the two preserved animal corpses. “His stead lost its head in honorable battle.”

Stan rolled his eyes even though a chunk of his irritation melted away, and he flicked at the rat so it’s arm jostled off like it tended to do even before the house went upside down. “Yeah, honorable cheap stitching from Wendy, you mean. Y’know it’s all fake, space kid, or I hope so. The last thing I need are rats in the house that believe in medieval chivalry. The normal ones are bad enough.”

“What?” Star actually looked surprised, and for a fleeting, sinking moment Stan wondered if she finally saw him for the scam everyone else knew he was. ( _Nothing but a liar and a cheat, riding on your brother’s coattails-_ ) 

He pushed forward, almost hasty in his explanation. “People don’t want real weirdness, they want safe, _possible_ weirdness at jacked up prices. It’s a show, get it? Like TV only it’s one stuffy car ride away.”

“So it’s like storytelling.” Star’s response was immediate, quick enough Stan’s brow shot up as she plopped the rat on its decapitated mount. “You know, sitting around a fire, waggling your fingers and saying stuff to make everyone else ooo and aaaw?”

“Heh, yeah, guess you could call it that.” The imagery tickled Stanley somewhat, the pleasant memory of campfires with the kids and his employees dragged up and out despite his lingering bad mood. He tapped the rat’s armor, watching it tip to the side awkwardly. “Give people a stuffed mole with some barbie hair on top and suddenly they’ll be dying for a picture with Marilyn Moleroe— heck, that’s a good one, I need to write that down.”

“What about- what about dogs with lasers for eyes!” Before he could even pat down his jacket for a stray pen and paper Star was pitching forward, grabbing his arm in bright eyed glee. “Or a hawk that shoots nails from its beak! Or an unspeakable blob that-“

“Whoa, whoa, slow down…” Stan watched in bafflement as Star let go and started rustling through their supplies for parts. It wasn’t exactly unlike the kid, even after a few days Stan noticed the smallest things seemed to set her off into a flurry of energy and excitement. He almost grinned at the thought of Ford having to deal with all that energy for so long, until the memory of his brother squashed the amusement thoroughly.

Though maybe not entirely. Hell, it was kind of nice to see her energy and glee directed at his work in a way he hadn’t seen since Soos. She turned to him with something sharp, dangerous and broken looking in her hands.

“I have _so_ many ideas, Uncle Stan!”

“So many violent ones,” Stan muttered to keep up appearances, kneeling beside her to pick at a taxidermy eagle. His tone was solemn. “No responsible business owner would ever dream of putting his customers—“

And yeah, that’s when he gave up the act under Star’s wide eyed stare, his face bursting into a sharp grin. “Haha, yeah right! Let’s put a nail gun in this thing and see how deadly we can make it.”

That’s what wavers were for, probably. It was worth it for the way Star beamed when they almost broke a window launching nails from an eagle’s mouth.

 

——

 

Once back inside the main house, hours gone and a few too many nails now imbedded in the walls of the museum, Star really wasn’t expecting to find Dipper staring glumly down at a pair of dice and graph paper. He had been so happy before, and that was the point of the mediation, right? 

Apparently she hadn’t mediated hard enough or something. She slid in quietly, plopping herself down next to Dipper stealthily enough that he violently started, nearly tearing the paper. “Star! You- you finished with Grunkle Stan then?”

“Yup!” Star chirped, glancing over the box that promised a lot of dungeons and a guy that looked too much like the kind of wizard jerks she and Ford dealt with from time to time. She made a face at the bearded possible jerk for good measure, even if the whole thing seemed a little familiar.

She ignored it, for now. “Uncle Stan says I have a real eye for ‘money grabbing cheap thrills’ but that I need to tone down the body horror a bit.”

“That’s… good?” Dipper guessed before hefting a tired sigh. “Well, thanks again for covering me- not that it really mattered, no one wanted to play with me anyway.”

Star blinked, surprise evident in her face. “What? Why not?”

Dipper’s tone went defensive around the edges, the same sort that he had early that morning against Stan though now it seemed more general. It was accompanied with just a touch of bitterness that had Star frowning. 

“They all keep saying it’s too ‘nerdy,’ I even asked Grenda when she came by to see if Mabel was around and she punched my graph paper! She said we had to kill it before it killed us!” His grumbling trailed off as he regarded Star, a flash of realization crossing his face. 

It was clear to see an idea was forming in his head. “Hey, maybe you want to play? I mean, it’s a _little_ nerdy sure but it’s really fun! If anyone gave it a chance I’m sure they’d see that!”

“I _love_ fun!” Star enthusiastically replied before her expression faltered under a sudden realization herself. “Oh, but can it wait a while? I wanna go downstairs and bug Dad for a bit, since he’s all ‘Star I’m too busy to come up, blah blah important work.’”

She was mid yapping her hand like it was Ford’s yappy mouth when she noticed the sudden, bright gleam in Dipper’s eyes. “Oh, you’re going down to the basement? Maybe- hey, maybe I could come with you? I mean Grunkle Stan and Great Uncle Ford never said I _couldn’t_ , really.”

Star considered for all of a beat before she grinned. “That sounds like a good enough loophole to me! I don’t know why they wouldn’t want you down anyway. Besides, I go down there all the time!”

As she stood Dipper glanced away, insecurity tracing his words. “They keep saying it’s dangerous but I don’t know. You don’t think Great Uncle Ford doesn’t like me, do you? You know him better than anyone and— ack!”

Dipper very nearly squeaked as Star grabbed him by the lapels of his vest, face suddenly very serious, grim lines that seemed almost puppetted as she stared him down. 

“Dipper Pines, there’s no way he doesn’t like you! I mean, duh, come on, you’re _family._ ” There was a quality to her tone that was pure sincerity, the absolute belief that such a thing was enough. 

Dipper, it seemed, couldn’t convince himself so thoroughly. He frowned, glancing to the side. “That doesn’t stop Grunkle Stan and Great Uncle Ford from not liking each other.”

“They like each other plenty, they just… forgot! Probably. Anyway, that’s what Operation Pines is all about!” Star pulled him up to his feet, hooking an arm around his neck. “You remind me a lot of Dad, you know, he always worried about weird little stuff like this.”

Star was pleased when the comment cheered Dipper, his funny little hero worship shining through and cracking his resolve. “Well, we won’t know until we go down there.” 

“Exactly!” And Star didn’t waste any time dragging him away from his game still half spilled across the floor.

The ride down had her grinning and bouncing on her heels, mostly at the wide eyed looks Dipper gave everything they passed. She assumed it was still pretty novel to him, if the story about how the younger twins didn’t even know about the elevator let alone the basement until a few days ago was true. Ford told her underground science basements weren’t exactly common in Earth households, at least the last he checked. At the time they both shook their heads, lamenting this dimension’s lack of common, sturdy underground bunkers.

“Star!” They weren’t even out of the elevator before Ford’s voice called out, clearly eager for an audience. For all his posturing about staying downstairs Star knew he was itching for company, especially now that he and Star were no longer glued at the hip, leaving Ford’s time to be swallowed by the expanse of the empty basement. 

It was even more apparent from the nearly goofy grin he sported as he first emerged from the shadows of deeper within the creepy old lab, some sort of green tentacled thing wriggling in the grip of his thick, leather gloves. “I wanted to— oh.”

Said goofy grin faltered when he noticed Dipper nearly brimming with curiosity at Star’s side. That falter was enough to send a ripple through Dipper’s good mood as well, his gaze growing nervous as Ford pushed himself to continue. “Ah, Dipper, hello.”

“What’s that?” Star ignored the mood in favor of the hissing thing in Ford’s hands, hurrying over to poke at the tentacles that whipped moodily out at her. “Can we eat it?”

“We can.” Ford’s grin returned with force as his attention reverted back to the very unhappy creature and it’s churlish attempts to chew at him. “In fact I used to make a mean sushi roll with these. They’re called—“

“A cycloptopus!” Dipper interjected, his sudden excitement quickly morphing to a sheepish, nervous edge. “Ah haha, I mean, I’ve read about them! In your journals, I haven’t had a chance to see one up close though.”

“I want to read those!” Star added, and between them Ford looked a little lost for what to say, struggling when the ornery monster began hissing.

“We’ll… maybe later, Star,” he answered, frowning down at the cycloptopus and its even glare. Star could see whatever resolve he had built stuttering a touch as he glanced back between them. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to let you take a closer look at him, though after that it would be best if you headed back upstairs. My work is very dangerous, far too dangerous for anyone dabble with.”

“Yeah, but…” Star watched as Dipper actually seemed to buy Ford’s grave, almost theatric warning, even if her cousin’s shoulders slumped shortly after. 

She nudged his arm. “Hey, cheer up! I’ll be right back up and we can play that game thing whatever.”

“D, D, and More D,” Dipper promptly corrected her, straightening in forced acceptance. “Well I guess-“

Only to be cut off by Ford’s widening eyes and his breathed, “Wait, what?”

That second of surprised, slackened grip was more than enough for the cycloptopus to wriggle violently out of his grip with a flailing of tentacles that knocked Ford’s glasses askew. The creature slammed forward and to the ground as Dipper gawked and Star raised her hands aggressively.

“Don’t let it get away! It _cannot taste flesh_!” Ford was immediately to action, adjusting his glasses and dashing forward as the creature made a mad run to the elevator shaft and climbed with a shriek up the wall.

Before Dipper could so much as blink Star was forward as well, pulling a taser out of her boot with a dramatic and nasty looking zap of the air. “You’re _mine_ , sushi!” And she was off, leaving Dipper to stare just a beat before hurrying after.

“Wait! I read up on this, I can help!”

——

Stan was halfway through fixing up the last of the bobbleheads when the slam of the vending machine opening had his head popping up with a baffled, “What?”

It all happened in few seconds- Ford rushed out first, apparently hot on the heels of an ugly, green creature that practically threw itself from the doorway upon the vending machine’s opening, Dipper and Star close behind and just as loud and enthusiastic.

Stan didn’t even have a chance to register the troubling fact that Dipper was in the basement before the yelling began.

“Kill it!” Star screamed.

“Great Uncle Ford!” Dipper helpfully added when the monster nipped at Ford’s fingers in their chase.

“Cute!” Was Mabel’s two cents, summoned from the living room by the commotion and staring in awe of the cycloptopus as it scurried past her and the doorway.

Stan personally had a lot of things to say, more along the lines of Star’s exclamation though with much less glee and a lot stronger language. Instead he gaped as his brother vaulted the counter, making his ‘Leave a penny, leave a penny’ bowl smash on the ground. Before he could even drudge up a properly outraged ‘hey!’ at that, Star bolted past him.

Apparently this fiasco was a normal enough occurrence because rather than warn her to stay back Ford held his hand out behind him, not bothering to look as he called, “Star!”

Star, in turn, tossed her taser with the same sort of practiced ease of teamwork, letting out a hoot when Ford caught it, tackled the creature and brought the taser buzzing to life against its rubbery skin.

The creature let out what Stan could only guess was a dying wail before its tentacles curled in on itself.

“Ha!” Ford was grinning as he pulled the now smoking, horrendous smelling monster up, sparing his free hand for a high-five with Star as she hurried over. “Excellent, thank you my dear.”

“No problem,” Star responded as she picked up the discarded taser. She leaned towards the poor, charred creature with a disturbingly delighted grin. The way it wearily blinked and twitched told Stan it wasn’t quite that dead yet, which was in no way a comforting thought.“Your new name is dinner, buddy.”

Dipper and Mabel were already excitedly rushing over to Star and his brother when Stan’s last nerve snapped.

“Oh for- no one’s eating any weird tentacle monster things tonight!” That was it, Stan had it. Ford’s bright grin sunk to something indignant almost immediately as Stan stormed over, one hand covering his nose and the other pointing back to the basement. “Get that thing out of here, it’s stinking up the gift shop! And you—“

He rounded on Dipper, who grimaced like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Why were you downstairs? I thought I told you you belong up here!”

Stan threw an accusatory look Ford’s way only to be greeted by a tensing of his brother’s shoulders. Of course it figured Ford wouldn’t hold up his end of the bargain, since he knew _so_ much damn better than an idiot like Stan. The thought dug into his side like a thorn, refusing to budge under the firm trappings of his irritation, just another painful needling that refused relief.

“I was just going down with Star!” Dipper’s call had Stan’s head turning back to him. The kid didn’t look too happy but he hadn’t for a while, at least not when it came to the somewhat unspoken rule to stay away from his idol. “It was only for a minute anyway.”

“And a minute is all it took for some green octopus to come barreling through the house like Mabel on Smile Dip!” Stan countered without pause. “No more, Ford’s a dangerous know-it-all and the junk he’s messing around with is going to get you hurt! No more basement!”

Stan glanced over in time to watch a flicker of something pass over Ford’s features, gone in an instant and replaced with a tightness just around his eyes and mouth. A pit shuddered in Stan’s stomach, an unnatural feeling a little too like guilt that made him stand taller, firmer. He was _right_ about this and Ford knew it. It wasn’t as though Ford ever damn filtered his own words on these kind of matters anyway.

He was very nearly surprised out of his stewing anger when Ford was the one who broke the silence. “Stanley is right, Dipper, it’d be better if you and your sister stayed away from the basement.”

“But-“ Dipper started, only to be shushed quickly by Ford.

“No, this is for the best, the road I walk is one you cannot follow. So uh, I’ll see you all for dinner.” With a sudden, slightly forced cheer at the end of his words Ford turned, stomping back to the basement

Star watched Ford head away, the makings of displeasure around her face until she stole a glance at Stan and the look bloomed into what could only be silent disappointment. Stan glanced away sharply, that pit tightening, but still heard her follow after Ford’s footsteps with only a small pat on Dipper’s arm as she passed.

When the elevator door closed fully Stan ran a hand over his face. “You heard him, now go clean up, dinner’s soon.”

Before Dipper or Mabel could protest, maybe give him another damn look like Star's he hurried off further into the shack. He didn’t need to see any more reproach, he was right, he _was._ Maybe he didn’t do responsibility often but this was different, even Ford seemed to recognize as much when he wasn’t trying to skirt the line by having Dipper down there in the first damn place.

It was the right thing to do, no ulterior motives, no- no nothing. When he reached the bathroom his haggard face stared skeptically back from the mirror.

“Yeah, keep telling yourself that, old man,” he muttered, rubbing the bridge of his nose before standing taller, straightening, letting the leaden feelings shed from his shoulders in unseemly clumps to the floor. 

He had a business to run and an uncertain future to plan for, the rest could god damned wait for him for once.

——

“In a way it’s totally a compliment!” Star’s voice rang out in the gloom of the basement, following after her father as he headed deeper into the lab in search of containment for the cycloptopus. What he found was a large jar, one he unceremoniously stuffed the cycloptopus into and sealed shut. He placed it on a nearby table, ignoring the wounded creature’s glare as Star continued valiantly on. “I mean you’re dangerous, that’s totally true! Think of how many monsters we fought like, every day! All the time! And know-it-all basically means Smarty McSmartpants so—“

Ford huffed a soft sigh as he turned finally towards his daughter’s hopeful look. “It’s alright, Star, it’s not as though he doesn’t have a point.”

“He does not!” Star shot back suddenly and stubbornly, before catching herself and hastily adding, “I mean, unless it was a compliment which it totally is! He loves you!”

“He has a funny way of showing it,” Ford muttered, almost quiet enough for Star to miss. In the basement, under fluorescents that colored some of the best and worst moments of his life, in here it was hard to forget hands shoving him back and _some brother you turned out to be._ Even the console still looked like Stan’s agonized face as his skin burned.

There had been a taste in the back of his mouth back then, thick on his tongue, something on the wrong side of desperate that had him writing Stanley that postcard, that sounded like _Stanley can help_ or _Stanley will help_ or _trust him._ He thought back then that maybe that was love, a stubborn kind, a type of choked, stunted forgiveness that needed more time to grow. The way Stanley reacted in the basement that day—

Well, he wasn’t sure what it was anymore. Maybe it was desperation and a side of selfishness Stanley seemed too keen to accuse him of.

He felt his hackles rise, a sharp irritation burning its way up his gut before Star grabbed his wrist, pulling it up and breaking the brewing storm. 

“He spent thirty years trying to get you back! That’s totally love, dad, c’mon.”

Ford couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips, and his ire escaped through a soft breath. “You really care about him already.”

“He’s _family._ ” Star acted like it was the easiest thing in the world, like it was some basic knowledge and Ford wondered if she really learned that from him. 

He had no illusions to the kind of father he was, he tried to keep Star safe as best he could but for a long time the title felt bizarre, misplaced, something that belonged to someone else he was waiting out for. Even over a decade later he sometimes looked in the mirror and wondered if he really had the right to claim a distinction like that.

Star refused him further time to dwell, continuing onward, “Besides he’s a riot! We made a dead bird into a weapon today.”

Ford refrained from rolling his eyes and couldn’t stop from asking, “Projectile or bludgeon?”

“Projectile, come on,” Star answered without missing a beat.

Ford sighed. Damnit. “Fine, I’ll give him that much.”

Star beamed as she let go of his wrist to perch on the table next to her, jostling the cycloptopus’s jar. The creature seemed too resigned to its fate to care other than some more pained glares. “I don’t get it, you always told me nice stories about him anyway. You’re being stubborn, dad, just tell him you missed him and I bet he’ll apologize for being a jerk and then you’ll hug and blah blah blah, emotions and stuff! Doesn’t that sound great? Admit it, it sounds great.”

“I told you nice stories _before_ Stanley decided to ignore all my warnings, take my work like a joke _again_ and play with the fate of the world.” He couldn’t let go of all his irritation it seemed, even in the face of Star’s optimism and persuasion. 

To which Star made a face that didn’t surprise him. “Booooo. The fate of the world ended up being fine so what’s the harm?”

Ford’s jaw tightened minutely, just enough that Star’s flippant tone died in her throat, replaced instead with a creeping unease. “Dad, everything _is_ fine, isn’t it? I mean we’re here! We’re safe now. I know it coulda been bad but we’re okay.”

Maybe there was a plea in her tone, one Ford heard before. When she was young and they ran for so long even her energy began to wear she’d tug at his sleeve, huddle up, ask in a small voice if everything was going to be alright. He never had the heart to say it wasn’t because it so rarely, rarely was alright, and even if the lie was thick and obvious on his tongue she still would ease, would fall asleep with a clearer head.

He hesitated for only a moment, the rift churning in the back of his head as he placed a gentle hand on Star’s head. “Everything will be fine, I just have a few loose ends to clean up.” It wasn’t exactly a lie, he decided, and the easy way Star nodded made the thought stab at his gut.

Just a little more peace for her, just stretch the omission a little longer. She was too young and had too much on her shoulders for so long. He may not have been sure of having the title of father but he’d damn well do his best to deserve it.

“You’re just holding a stubborn old man grudge.” With Star’s returned peace of mind came her nagging. “But that’s it, huh? You’re still mad at him because things could have gone bad?”

Ford regarded her for a moment, her curiosity a little too pointed to be without some grander plan. Of course it wouldn’t be Star if she didn’t meddle, especially with him, so he resigned himself with a sigh. “You’re really not going to stop until we talk about this, are you?”

“Nope!” Star responded brightly.

He rubbed at his temples. Well, until he gave her an inch here she wouldn’t be leaving him be, even if she tried to take a mile. “Yes, Star, I am still somewhat mad at that. I spent most of my time on the other side letting the fact Stan would know better soothe me, it was one of the only things that made the whole nightmarish... It was necessary, I couldn’t imagine he’d ignore the safety of the world- and apparently his niece and nephew- for the uncertain chance of bringing me back.”

He grimaced, that information bringing a fresh wave of annoyance through him every time he remembered it. Why Stan did any of it baffled him in a sense, but why when Dipper and Mabel were here? Why didn’t he wait? Was he that obsessed all those thirty years?

It was an uncomfortable thought. _Love,_ Star insisted, but she hadn’t seen his face that night. 

“I just need time, Star, I am- and don’t you dare repeat this to him- I am grateful he saved you from the other side. Even if he had no idea of it.” It was tacked on reluctantly, and Star’s face brightened under even such a small concession.

“But once you have time…?”

“Then we’ll revisit the issue, that’s all I can promise.” Ford could already see her planning out an epic reunion in her head. He shook his own. “Sometimes I wonder if meddling is part of your natural personality or some trait of your race I was never aware of.”

“Nah, I learned it from you.” Star’s cheeriness had him huff a laugh as he shooed her away from the table and glaring cycloptopus prisoner.

——

It was well after ten at night when Ford’s stomach forced him out of his self imposed hermitage and into the dim light of hall to the kitchen. From there he could hear the TV running, Mabel and Star’s voices melding into a never ending sort of chatter that was only punctuated by the gruff remarks Stan would occasionally throw in. Stan’s voice was a reminder, an unwanted one, and Ford’s shoulders tensed as he strode purposely and quietly towards his goal.

Usually he did make a point of coming up for dinner at the very least, to soothe Star’s complaints and to see all the children for what short time he (and Stan) allotted. After their little row Ford felt it more prudent to stay away (he was not bitter, he was not licking his wounded pride, he was _not_ ) and, thankfully, Star hadn’t felt it equally prudent to go downstairs and drag him back up.

That hardly stopped her from coming down and making him promise to actually _have_ dinner later, but at least he was spared an awkward meal.

He froze in place at the kitchen doorway, hand hovering instantly over the gun at his side when his ears caught a rustling inside. A few steps in revealed, to his relief and slackened hand, Dipper’s back heading for the garbage with a frustrated gait. 

“Stupid…” the boy was muttering under his breath, and when Ford recognized the box in Dipper’s hands he couldn’t help but stop him.

“What are you doing, Dipper?” he asked, unsurprised when Dipper whirled around, clutching his D, D, and More D box up like a shield.

“Why are you and Star always sneaking up on me?” His whine trailed off when he registered who was talking to him, a sheepish sort of look crossing his face even if it mixed with something more like reluctance and hurt. “I mean hey, Great Uncle Ford, I was just… uh… throwing this out, I guess.”

“But why?” Ford’s tone was completely baffled, and his question threw Dipper for a loop and the boy struggled with an answer he didn’t seem all that sure of either.

“Well, just- no one likes it anyway! I asked basically everyone and even though Star agreed to try it later…” As he trailed off Ford frowned, a stab of guilt sharp in his gut. He could imagine the afternoon had poisoned Dipper’s mood rather thoroughly.

He shook the feeling and walked over, plucking the box from Dipper’s hands with a, “May I?” then examining the cover. A rush of nostalgia softened his features to smile, glancing over old Probabilator the Annoying in his new, updated form.

“Well this won’t do. If you don’t want this can I have it then?” Ford ran his hand over the box, examining the unfamiliar elements as Dipper gawked.

“It’s- you’re interested in it?”

“Interested?” Ford couldn’t help a laugh, kneeling to Dipper’s level. “My boy, this was my favorite game growing up! And in college, really, and after- never let anyone tell you to outgrow your hobbies, Dipper!” he said with the sudden, fervent intensity of a man who may have heard a little too much mocking about it in his time.

Dipper’s dumbstruck nod just prompted Ford to continue. “When you mentioned it downstairs I was so gobsmacked I lost my grip on the cycloptopus! Heh, I guess I assumed after thirty years this dimension would have outgrown old games like this.”

“N-no way!” Dipper was quick to gesture to the box, tone rising with his excitement. “People still play it a lot! They make new editions still pretty much every year, and I played it all the time at home too!” 

“Then why throw it out? It sounds like we’re of a like mind in this.” Ford’s brow rose in time for Dipper to look sheepish away.

“Well… I guess it may have been a little bout of preteen angst.” His admittance had Ford’s lips quirking in the sympathetic understanding of a man who could remember a few episodes of his own (and a few of Star’s at that.) The sight had Dipper easing further. “Hey, maybe… I know I can’t come downstairs but maybe we could play together? I know you’re busy with uh… dangerous weird road work and everything, maybe I shouldn’t have asked.”

Dipper was so quick to reel in his offer that Ford couldn’t help but tap at the brim of Dipper’s hat, pulling it up just a touch to get a better look at the kid’s hidden face. He stared back anxiously and Ford was struck with a feeling of sympathy, of camaraderie, really, old memories of begging Stanley to give the game a try only to be shooed away. He found ways to play the game with himself those days, before college and Fiddleford came along, stubborn in his determination to have at least that.

Whatever little resolve he had crumpled completely as his tone went solemn, “Dipper, we owe it to ourselves and this family to keep our priorities straight.”

Dipper’s face fell but Ford soldiered on, his own lips cracking into an enthusiastic grin. “So clearly you’ll help me find a place other than the basement where we can get a real game going. After all, Stan only said you couldn’t come to the basement, didn’t he?”

Dipper’s slackened jaw and quickly mounting excitement soothed the small stab of guilt he felt at the blatant lie. _Well,_ he reasoned, _he did only say as much to Dipper. One game to make the kid feel better would hardly hurt, even Stan will see that._

“I know just the place! There’s a room these creepy wax figures used to- well, I’ll explain when we get there, come on!”

Ford followed Dipper into the depths of the house, trying to pretend his attempts at stealth weren’t the product of knowing, perhaps, he was breaking a promise. 

Any thoughts of Stan completely left his head by the first time Dipper gasped at a trap Ford’s tale had set, and for the first time since his arrival Ford didn’t think about the rift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> extra special thanks to my beta cake for putting up with me especially hard for this one. also thanks to someone who shall not be named for some shack attraction ideas


End file.
